K™ 
i 


LL 

.d^*^  :»*<*il  .  -j^;.  jgr  .-ir   *"**.   x**^    w     * 

OF  MI5CH 

•,^-    I  •JI..JI"*iiw«r  •^••^•1.     1. 


"  With  That  Shining  Tube  Pointed  at  Me " 

(Page  73) 


MILLIONS  OP  MISCHIEr 


THE  STORY  OP  A  GRCKT  SECRET 


BY 

Ibeafcon  Hbtll 

AUTHOR  OF 

"BY  A  HAIR'S-BREADTH,"  "THE  DUKE  DECIDES,' 
"A  RACE  WITH  RUIN,"  ETC. 


ILLUS 


TRATED 


"And  some  that  smile  have  in  their  hearts,  I  fear,  millions  of 
mischief." — Julius  Caesar,  Act  IV.,  Scene  i. 


AKRON,  OHIO 

THE  SAALPIELD  PUBLISHING  CO. 

NEW  YORK  1905  CHICAGO 


COPYRIGHT,    1904, 
BY 

HEADON   HILL 


M.:    E      IT 

THE    WERNER    COMPANY 
AKRON,    OHIO 


CONTENTS 

i 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

PROLOGUE       ........  7 

ARTHUR  RIVINGTON'S  NARRATIVE 

I    BRINK  OF  THE  SCAFFOLD 13 

II    A  TERRIBLE  TASK 22 

III  I  PICK  UP  A  LADY 29 

IV  So  NEAR  AND  YET  so  FAR 38 

V    I  TRY  A  RUSE 45 

VI    CREAKING  OF  THE  STAIR 52 

VII    JANET  READS  THE  RIDDLE 60 

VIII    IN  THE  BRANKSOME  PINES 67 

IX    HERZOG'S  CLAWS 73 

X    WHAT  JANET  DISCOVERED      ,        ....  80 

XI    ENTER  LORD  ALPHINGTON 87 

JANET'S  NARRATIVE 

XII    IN  THE  LONDON  EXPRESS      .        .        .        -       •,  95 

XIII  MRS.  WESLEY'S  FICKLENESS                    ^  104 

XIV  IN  PERIL  BY  DAY          .        .        *•               .        .  in 
XV    IN  PERIL  BY  NIGHT               ^  117 

XVI    A  PEACE  MAGISTRATE    .        .        .        .        .        .125 

2136272 


4  CONTENTS 

ARTHUR  RIVINGTON'S  NARRATIVE 
CONTINUED 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

XVII  THE  TUBE  OF  ATROPINE        .        .        .        .134 

XVIII    SLEIGHT  OF  HAND 140 

XIX  AN  UNWITTING  CHAMPION  .        .        .        .148 

XX  THE  COLONEL'S  TIDINGS        .        .        .        .155 

XXI    IN  DEAD  OF  NIGHT 163 

XXII    A  STRANGE  ALLIANCE 171 

XXIII  A  RISKY  HIDING-PLACE        .        .        .        .180 

JANET'S  NARRATIVE  CONTINUED 

XXIV  SIR  GIDEON'S  BARGAIN          .        .        .        .185 
XXV  THE  FACE  AT  THE  GANGWAY        .        .        .193 

XXVI    "SEALED  ORDERS" 202 

XXVII  OPENING  THE  ENVELOPE        ....    209 

XXVIII  DEATH-WARRANT — OR    WORSE?     .        .        .    217 

XXIX  WAVING  THE  LANTERN         ....    223 

XXX  HERZOG  FACES  BOTH  WAYS  .        .        .        .    230 

XXXI  THE  PROOFS  OF  GUILT  .....    238 

XXXII  A  FIGHT  AGAINST  TIME        .        .        .        .245 

XXXIII  SHIPWRECK 254 

XXXIV  ROGER  MASSKE  ARRIVES        ...»    263 


ARTHUR  RIVINGTON'S  NARRATIVE 
CONTINUED 

XXXV    A  DOUBTFUL  FRIEND 270 

XXXVI    DISCOVERY 277 

XXXVII    THE  PREMIER  TAKES  SNUFF          .         .         .287 

XXXVIII    Two  VOLUNTEERS 296 

XXXIX    AFTERMATH  OF  STORM 304 


ILLUSTRATIONS 

"With  that  shining  tube  pointed  at  me — "  .  Frontispiece 
"It  will  be  safer  in  my  possession"  ....  147 
"I  quickly  extracted  the  envelope"  ....  222 
"They  sprang  upon  one  another  like  tigers"  .  .  269 


PROLOGUE 


T|cf  E  meeting  of  the  Cabinet  came  to  an  abrupt 
I  termination  with  the  sudden  rising  of  the 
Premier.  Lord  Alphington's  colleagues 
watched  him  nervously  as  he  strode  to  the 
door  of  the  council  chamber,  and  watched  him  with 
graver  apprehension  as  he  turned  there  and  faced 
them,  his  usually  impassive  countenance  ablaze  with 
righteous  wrath. 

"That,  my  lords  and  gentlemen,  is  my  policy,"  he 
exclaimed.  ' '  If  you  will  not  agree  to  it  I  must  recon- 
struct or  resign." 

For  twenty  seconds  the  great  statesman  stood  with 
his  majestic  figure  framed  in  the  black  oak  of  the 
doorway,  his  eagle  glance  singling  out  the  three  dis- 
sentients. Then,  shaking  his  mane  like  an  angry  lion, 
he  turned  and  was  gone. 

After  an  interval  of  awe-struck  silence  the  other 
ministers  followed  him  out  of  the  room— all  but  the 
three  who  had  been  the  cause  of  this  unrehearsed 
effect.  These  pulled  their  chairs  closer  and  prepared 
for  an  informal  discussion  of  their  position.  The  tall 
man  with  the  stooping  shoulders  and  the  yellow  snags 
of  teeth  was  Sir  Gideon  Marske,  the  Chancellor  of  the 
Exchequer;  the  ponderous,  oily  man  was  Mr.  North- 


8  MILLIONS  OF  MISCHIEF 

moor,  the  Home  Secretary;  the  brisk  little  man  with 
the  furtive  eye  was  Viscount  Trevose,  Secretary  of 
State  for  War.  In  their  different  ways  they  all  looked 
frightened. 

And  well  they  might,  for  having  failed  to  carry 
their  point  at  this,  the  stormiest  Cabinet  council  of 
the  century,  they  were  left  face  to  face  with  the  pros- 
pect of  being  stripped  of  the  emoluments  of  office. 
Professional  politicians  each  and  all,  they  were  none 
of  them  rich,  and  the  Premier's  threat  to  reconstruct 
or  resign  touched  the  pockets  of  these  pretentious  but 
impecunious  men. 

"Political  assassination  has  long  been  in  the  limbo 
of  the  past,  or  it  would  be  a  case  for  a  hired  bravo 
and  a  dagger,"  said  Sir  Gideon  Marske,  with  the 
nervous  laugh  of  one  who  throws  .out  a  tentative  jest. 

The  other  two  started  and  looked  at  him  fixedly. 
It  was  true  that  Lord  Alphington's  death  would  cut 
the  Gordian  knot  of  their  perplexities.  The  question 
at  issue  was  the  attitude  to  be  preserved  toward  a 
Foreign  Power  which  need  not  be  specified.  The  Prime 
Minister's  policy  made  for  conciliation,  with  a  view 
to  reducing  the  people 's  burdens ;  his  opponents  were 
for  yielding  to  popular  clamor,  which  would  probably 
plunge  the  country  into  war  with  its  inevitable  conse- 
quence of  enormous  expenditure. 

Lord  Trevose,  with  the  memory  of  his  mortgaged 
acres  pressing  him,  echoed  the  Chancellor's  laugh. 
"Of  course  it  is  an  anachronism,  but  a  knife  in 
Alphington's  ribs  would  assuredly  save  the  country 
from  humiliation;  only  a  bold  front  can  prevent  a 
costly  war,"  he  said.  Himself  he  could  not  deceive, 


PROLOGUE  9 

but,  like  his  associates,  he  half  hoped  to  dress  up  his 
mercenary  aspirations  in  the  garb  of  patriotism— for 
the  deception  of  the  other  two. 

Mr.  Northmoor,  the  Home  Secretary,  did  not  laugh. 
He  was  one  of  those  who  had  no  need  for  laughter  of 
that  kind,  inasmuch  as  in  his  speech  was  a  bland, 
purring  note  that  left  his  hearers  in  doubt  as  to  his 
sincerity.  You  could  take  him  seriously  or  not,  as  you 
chose,  which  was  convenient  to  a  many-sided  man. 
But  those  who  knew  him  well  were  aware  of  a  certain 
peculiarity — a  mere  trick  of  manner.  He  always 
coughed  unconsciously  after  making  a  statement  which 
he  himself  meant  in  earnest. 

"The  thing  could  be  done  now— quite  easily,"  he 
said,  glancing  quickly  from  one  to  the  other  of  his 
colleagues.  Sir  Gideon  and  Lord  Trevose  watched 
him,  open-eyed  and  open-eared.  Yes,  the  remark  was 
followed  by  the  short,  wheezy  cough  significant  of 
intention. 

For  fully  a  minute  the  three  statesmen  sat  and 
looked  at  each  other  in  an  awe-struck  silence,  which 
Sir  Gideon  was  the  first  to  break. 

"You  are  always  fond  of  your  little  joke,  North- 
moor,"  he  faltered  huskily.  "How— supposing,  of 
course,  that  we  meant  business— how  could  the  thing 
be  done?" 

"You  have  heard  of  the  Rivington  murder  case, 
for  which  one  Arthur  Rivington  is  now  lying  under 
sentence  of  death  in  Winchester  Jail?"  Mr.  North- 
moor  asked  quietly. 

Yes,  they  had  all  heard  of  the  case,  as  how  should 
they  not,  when  all  England  was  ringing  with  the 


10  MILLIONS  OF  MISCHIEF 

infamy  of  the  young  man  recently  convicted  of  the 
cold-blooded,  calculating  murder,  at  intervals  and  by 
poison,  of  his  mother  and  sister? 

"Well,  in  that  wretch,  gentlemen,  we  have  an  in- 
strument ready  to  hand, ' '  proceeded  the  Home  Secre- 
tary impressively.  And,  feeling  his  ground  by  a  glance 
at  his  colleagues'  faces,  he  went  on:  "For  no  partic- 
ular reason— with  the  maudlin  sentimentality  of  the 
age,  perhaps— the  jury  recommended  Eivington  to 
mercy,  and  the  matter  came  before  me  officially  to 
decide.  As  usual,  I  sent  for  the  judge  who  tried  the 
case,  who  happened  to  be  Sir  James  Morrison— about 
the  most  lenient  of  the  pack.  He  was  dead  against 
any  deviation  from  the  capital  sentence,  ridiculed  the 
recommendation  of  the  jury,  and  affirmed  that  the 
prisoner's  guilt  was  beyond  the  possibility  of  doubt, 
and  that  the  crime  was  the  most  cruel,  the  most  cun- 
ning, the  most  carefully  covered-up  that  it  had  ever 
been  his  lot  to  try.  'A  fiend  in  human  shape,'  was 
the  learned  judge 's  last  word  about  Arthur  Rivington ; 
and  I  maintain  that  as  patriots,  with  our  dear  country 
hovering  on  the  brink  of  a  terrible  war,  we  are  justi- 
fied in  using  any  fiend  in  any  sort  of  shape,  for  avert- 
ing such  a  catastrophe." 

His  hearers  were  not  deceived  by  his  heroics,  though 
they  struggled  hard  to  believe  that  in  their  own  indi- 
vidual cas.es  that  whole-souled  sentiment  was  really 
genuine. 

' '  But  if  the  fellow  is  going  to  be  hanged  how  could 
he  serve  our — I  mean  the  turn  of  the  country?"  haz- 
arded Lord  Trevose  after  a  pause.  Though  willing  to 
go  far,  the  Secretary  of  War  was  not  an  imaginative 


PROLOGUE  11 

man.  His  obtuseness  caused  irritation  to  Sir  Gideon 
Marske,  whose  shifts  and  expedients  were  a  by-word. 

"Don't  you  see?  Northmoor,  as  head  of  the  Home 
Department,  has  his  grip  on  the  prison  service,"  said 
Sir  Gideon.  "Northmoor  will  pull  the  strings  and 
the  little  figure  will " 

"Escape,"  interjected  the  Home  Secretary  with  a 
snap.  "Marske  has  grasped  the  situation  to  a  nicety. 
I  can  see  to  it  that  the  cage  is  left  unfastened  and  that 
the  bird  nutters  out— only  to  be  recaptured  and  turned 
to  our  purpose  immediately.  Herzog,  of  the  Secret 
Service,  is  the  man  to  take  him  in  hand  and  tell  him 
what  he  has  to  do  as  the  price  of  his  freedom. ' ' 

"But  what  of  Herzog  himself?"  Lord  Trevose  sug- 
gested uneasily.  "I  know  something  of  the  fellow — 
that  he  is  an  unmitigated  scoundrel.  We  should  be 
simply  delivering  ourselves  bound  into  his  hands  if 
we  asked  him  to  act  as  go-between  in  such  an  affair." 

Mr.  Northmoor  purred  softly,  like  a  large,  sleek, 
well-fed  cat.  "Ask  Sir  Gideon,"  was  all  the  answer 
he  vouchsafed. 

"Mr.  Herzog 's  value  as  the  most  faithful  and  un- 
scrupulous member  of  the  Secret  Service  lies  in  the 
fact  that  at  a  word  from  me  he  would  go  into  penal 
servitude  for  life,"  said  the  Chancellor.  "He  was  in 
my  Department  originally,  you  know— as  a  Surveyor 
of  Taxes.  When  he  went  wrong  I  spared  him  because 
I  recognized  that  the  Service  would  gain  by  the  addi- 
tion of  a  tool  without  conscience  or  compassion,  who 
would  not  dare  to  decline  any  dirty  work  the  State 
might  require  of  him.  And  the  State  does  require 
dirty  work  sometimes." 


12  MILLIONS  OF  MISCHIEF 

In  their  blind  egotism  the  unintentional  naivete  of 
the  concluding  words  escaped  them  all,  or  they  did 
not  see,  or  affected  not  to  see,  that  the  task  to  be 
entrusted  to  Herzog's  hands  came  under  the  category 
of  the  Chancellor's  sententious  pronouncement.  All 
that  they  were  concerned  with  was  the  assurance,  with 
which  Sir  Gideon  was  able  to  satisfy  them,  that  the 
proposed  tool  was  so  utterly  discredited,  and  his 
dossier  so  well  known  to  the  permanent  officials,  that 
even  if  he  proved  recalcitrant  no  one  would  believe 
him  against  the  ministers  of  the  Crown.  And  of 
course  he  would  be  instructed  verbally,  by  one  of 
them,  without  witnesses. 

So  far  the  discussion,  and  then  silence  swooped  on 
the  three  statesmen  again.  Once  more  they  regarded 
each  other  with  eyes  striving  furtively  for  limitations 
of  the  mutual  confidence  necessary  to  conspiracy. 
Presently  Lord  Trevose  yawned,  then  rose  briskly  and 
said: 

"Well,  we've  wasted  a  lot  of  time  over  this  fairy 
tale.  I  shall  go  to  the  club  for  lunch. ' ' 

Mr.  Northmoor  laid  a  fat  hand  on  his  arm  and 
whispered,  "Sit  down,  Trevose.  It  isn't  a  fairy  tale, 
is  it,  Sir  Gideon?" 

"Not  so  far  as  I  am  concerned,"  replied  the  Chan- 
cellor of  the  Exchequer,  showing  his  yellow  fangs  in 
an  evil  grin. 

And  Lord  Trevose  sat  down  again. 


ARTHUR  RIVINGTON'S  NARRATIVE 


CHAPTER  I 

BRINK  OF  THE  SCAFFOLD 

NE,  two,  three,  four,"  tolled  the  clocks  of  the 
ancient  city,  led  by  the  cathedral  chimes.  Four 
o'clock  on  Monday  afternoon,  and  at  nine 
o'clock  on  Thursday  morning  I  was  to  be  led 
out  to  die.  The  medley  of  musical  sounds  wafted 
from  afar  through  the  iron-barred  window  meant  that 
I  had  exactly  sixty-five  hours  to  live  before  I  passed 
for  the  last  time  out  into  God's  sunlight,  there  to  be 
hanged  by  the  neck  till  I  was  dead. 

The  harsh  voice  of  the  judge  who  had  flung  those 
fatal  words  at  me  across  the  crowded  court  three  weeks 
before  was  still  ringing  in  my  ears.  Then  I  had  hardly 
realized  their  real  import,  welcoming  them  indeed  as 
the  conclusion  of  a  horrible  nightmare,  and,  above  all, 
as  terminating  his  lordship 's  ruthless  invective  on  the 
enormity  of  my  offense.  But  now,  with  the  sands  in 
the  hour-glass  of  fate  so  nearly  spent,  the  words  of 

13 


14  MILLIONS  OF  MISCHIEF 

doom  buzzed  in  my  ears  with  a  meaning  full  of  men- 
ace. 

Glancing  round  the  sombre  limits  of  the  condemned 
cell,  at  the  bare,  drab-colored  walls,  the  bare  table 
with  its  drab-bound  Bible,  the  drab  counterpane  of 
the  hard  bed  on  which  I  had  spent  what  seemed  a 
lifetime  of  sleepless  nights,  I  felt  that  I  could  welcome 
the  realization  of  the  grim  words  of  my  sentence,  but 
for  one  fact— that  I  was  innocent  of  the  almost  name- 
less horror  of  which  I  had  been  convicted. 

And  given  a  month  of  freedom  I  was  confident  that 
I  could  lift  the  load  of  ignominy  that  had  overwhelmed 
me,  by  shifting  it  to  the  right  shoulders.  At  any  rate, 
I  should  have  the  chance  of  proving  my  innocence  at 
the  expense  of  the  unknown  fiend  who  had  robbed  me 
of  mother,  of  sister,  and  of  good  name. 

And  once  again  I  laughed  in  derision  at  the  idea 
that  I,  Arthur  Rivington,  should  have  been  deemed 
capable  of  having  schemed  with  diabolical  and  cruel 
cunning  to  poison,  for  the  sake  of  a  few  paltry  hun- 
dreds, the  two  women  whom,  next  to  one  other  only,  I 
held  most  dear. 

The  sound  of  my  laughter  was  quickly  followed  by 
the  grating  of  the  key  in  the  lock  of  my  cell.  The 
door  swung  open,  and  the  warder  who  had  charge  of 
me  entered,  regarding  me  with  a  keen  glance  of  what 
looked  very  like  anxiety.  Hitherto  this  man's  de- 
meanor had  been  one  of  callous  contempt,  his  scanty 
speech  and  rough  manners  showing  that  he  shared  the 
public  loathing  in  which  I  was  held.  But  this  after- 
noon some  new  emotion  seemed  to  have  awakened  in 
him.  It  was  hardly  pity,  and  certainly  not  friendli- 


BRINK  OF  THE  SCAFFOLD  15 

ness;  yet  I  could  see  that  he  was  eyeing  me  with  an 
intentness  that  bespoke  a  personal  interest. 

"What's  up  ?"  he  said  curiously.  "Did  I  hear  you 
laugh?" 

Such  was  my  mood  that  I  made  him  no  answer,  but 
went  on  laughing.  The  warder  stepped  to  the  door, 
peeped  up  and  down  the  corridor,  and  came  in  again, 
shutting  the  door  behind  him  and  placing  his  back 
against  it. 

"Look  here,  I  can't  have  you  going  off  your  head 
just  when  you've  become  valuable,"  he  said  in  a  hoarse 
whisper.  "I'd  meant  to  keep  it  to  the  last  minute, 
lest  the  chaplain  or  the  governor  should  pay  you  a 
visit  and  notice  anything,  but  I  must  chance  that— 
sooner  than  have  you  go  barmy.  I  can  tell  you  some- 
thing to  make  you  laugh  the  right  side  of  your  face. ' ' 

' '  They  have  found  that  I  am  innocent  ?  I  am  par- 
doned, or  at  least  reprieved?"  I  cried. 

"If  you  raise  your  voice  like  that  I'll  knock  you 
down, ' '  said  the  brute,  advancing  a  step.  ' ' Pardoned ! 
Reprieved ! "  he  added,  with  a  contemptuous  belief  in 
my  guilt  that  was  obviously  genuine.  "They  don't 
hand  around  pardons  and  reprieves  to  your  sort.  It's 
me  that's  the  pardoner  and  repriever,  and  I'll  tell  you 
the  way  of  it,  if  you'll  promise  to  keep  quiet,  and  not 
get  shrieking  like  a  silly  woman  in  the  high-strikes." 

Feverishly  I  gave  the  required  promise,  and  strove 
to  calm  myself  while  the  hulking,  beetle-browed  fellow 
poured  his  whisky-laden  tale  in  my  ear.  He  had  been 
heavily  bribed  by  a  "well-wisher"  of  mine,  as  he 
called  it,  to  arrange  my  escape  from  Winchester 
prison,  and  to  put  me  on  the  way  to  safety  afterwards. 


16  MILLIONS  OF  MISCHIEF 

He  had  got  the  details  all  cut  and  dried;  nothing 
seemed  easier.  He  would  bring  me  a  warder's  uni- 
form, and  I  would  leave  the  prison  with  him  at  nine 
o'clock  when  he  went  off  duty  and  the  night  shift 
came  on.  He  would  take  me  to  his  house  in  the  town, 
supply  me  with  private  clothes,  and  do  all  that  was 
necessary  to  give  me  a  clean  pair  of  heels. 

"But  the  thing  is  impossible!"  I  faltered,  when  I 
had  recovered  a  little  from  the  shock.  "You  have  to 
hand  me  over  to  the  night  warder." 

"He's  in  it,  too,"  was  the  laconic  rejoinder. 

"You  will  both  be  discharged." 

"It  has  been  made  worth  our  while,"  said  the 
warder,  with  a  sardonic  grin  that  left  no  doubt  as  to 
the  truth  of  his  statement,  though  it  increased  my. 
dazed  perplexity.  The  only  person  on  earth  who 
believed  in  my  innocence,  so  far  as  I  knew,  and  who 
cared  enough  to  snatch  me  from  the  gallows,  was  my 
own  true  love,  Janet  Chilmark,  and  she,  poor  girl, 
could  never  have  satisfied  these  venal  sharks  out  of 
her  limited  means.  Yet  I  could  think  of  no  one  else 
who  had  done  this  thing,  and  I  could  only  conclude 
that  Janet  had  made  some  superhuman  effort  to  raise 
the  needful  money. 

To  my  importunate  questions  as  to  who  had  bribed 
him  the  warder  remained  dumb.  All  he  would  say 
was  that ' '  my  friend ' '  would  be  waiting  for  me,  ready 
to  render  me  further  assistance,  at  the  "Pilot's  Rest," 
a  third-rate  hotel  at  Southampton,  whither  I  was  to 
go  that  very  night.  Bidding  me  control  my  impa- 
tience, he  withdrew  to  his  usual  post  outside  the  cell 
door. 


BRINK  OF  THE  SCAFFOLD  17 

The  next  few  hours  were,  I  think,  the  most  nerve- 
straining  that  I  had  passed  since  my  arrest.  Always 
there  was  present  to  me  the  horrible  thought  that  the 
warder's  statement  was  all  a  horrible  jest  at  the  ex- 
pense of  a  wretched  prisoner  to  whom  he  had  taken  a 
dislike  from  the  first.  It  seemed  too  good  to  be  true, 
that  certain  doom  was  to  be  changed  by  some  unknown 
magician  into  at  least  a  chance  for  life,  and  what 
meant  more  than  life — a  chance  to  reestablish  my 
innocence.  With  each  succeeding  chorus  from  the  city 
clocks  this  feeling  of  doubt  grew,  till  it  became  an 
agony,  and  I  could  have  cried  aloud  in  my  distress. 

But  with  the  stroke  of  nine  came  relief  with  the 
reappearance  of  the  warder,  accompanied  by  the  col- 
league who  was  to  take  his  place.  One  was  wearing 
two  tunics,  the  other  two  pairs  of  trousers,  of  which 
they  promptly  divested  themselves  of  the  outer  ones. 

"Look  sharp  and  slip  into  them,"  said  the  day  man, 
producing  a  ' '  cheese-cutter ' '  cap  from  the  chest  of  his 
own  tunic,  while  his  colleague  disburdened  himself  of 
a  cleverly-concealed  pair  of  boots. 

With  so  much  before  me  to  tell  of  the  next  few 
crowded  weeks  I  will  pass  over  the  details  of  my 
escape,  and  I  can  do  so  the  more  readily  as  they  were 
quite  without  incident.  Clad  in  the  official  costume,  I 
simply  walked  out  of  prison  side  by  side  with  my  surly 
rescuer,  and  went  with  him  to  a  little  house  not  far 
from  the  gates,  where  I  changed  into  a  suit  of  tweeds 
that  had  been  provided.  Then  he  handed  me  a  sover- 
eign for  my  railway  fare,  and  bade  me  catch  the  nine- 
thirty  train  for  Southampton. 

"No  need  to  skulk,"  said  the  warder  as  he  opened 


18  MILLIONS  OF  MISCHIEF 

his  house-door  to  let  me  out.  "There  won't  be  any 
hue  and  cry  until  morning,  when  my  mate  will  give 
the  alarm  that  you've  flown,  and  you'll  have  met  with 
your  friend  by  that  time.  Don't  forget  the  address— 
the  'Pilot's  Rest,'  Backwater  Street,  Southampton. 
Give  the  name  of  Tennant,  and  ask  for  Mr.  Herzog." 

To  obey  the  injunction  not  to  skulk  was  more  diffi- 
cult than  it  sounded.  As  I  made  my  way  to  the  station 
I  had  the  instinctive  feeling  that  every  eye  in  the 
crowded,  lamp-lit  streets  was  on  me,  and  knew  me  as 
the  notorious  murderer.  It  was,  of  course,  ridiculous, 
for  none  of  the  hurrying  wayfarers  had  met  me  in  the 
flesh,  and  it  was  highly  improbable  that  any  one  would 
recognize  me  from  the  abominable  woodcuts, ' '  sketched 
in  court,"  that  had  appeared  in  the  Sunday  papers. 
Yet  I  could  not  shake  off  the  sensation,  any  more  than 
I  could  help  turning  occasionally  to  see  if  my  steps 
were  dogged.  It  was  not  till  I  stepped  into  an  empty 
compartment  of  the  nine-thirty  that  I  breathed  freely. 

To  secure  privacy  I  had  taken  a  first-class  ticket  for 
the  short  run,  and  it  was,  therefore,  disappointing  to 
have  the  door  dragged  open  just  as  the  train  was 
starting,  by  a  well-dressed  gentleman  who  sank  ex- 
hausted on  the  opposite  seat.  I  was  relieved,  how- 
ever, by  the  fact  that  he  showed  no  sort  of  interest  in 
me,  but  at  once  became  engrossed  in  the  pages  of 
Punch. 

To  soothe  my  nerves  and  distract  my  attention  I 
fell  to  studying  his  face,  and  I  found  therein  food  for 
reflection  in  many  sharp  contrasts.  For  instance,  the 
nose  was  large  and  fleshy,  and  the  cheeks  were  of  a 
florid  bagginess  that  it  is  usual  to  associate  with  jovial 


BRINK  OF  THE  SCAFFOLD  19 

good-fellowship,  yet  the  thin,  straight  lips  spoke  of 
asceticism,  or  possibly  cruelty.  Again,  the  eyes,  which 
twinkled  with  appreciative  humor  at  some  joke  in  the 
paper,  grew  as  cold  as  steel  when  he  seemed  to  lapse 
into  an  introspective  mood,  gazing  out  into  the  night. 

The  journey  to  Southampton  was  soon  accomplished, 
and  my  fellow-passenger,  descending  before  me,  dis- 
appeared amongst  the  crowd  on  the  platform.  With 
the  haunting  dread  of  being  followed  and  recaptured 
strong  on  me,  I  dared  not,  at  the  station,  take  a  cab  to 
the  hotel,  or  even  inquire  the  way  to  it,  but,  striking 
out  into  a  succession  of  quiet  streets,  I  put  a  consid- 
erable distance  between  myself  and  the  railway  before 
I  ventured  to  ask  a  passer-by  for  Backwater  Street. 
Luckily  he  was  able  to  direct  me,  and  traversing  the 
length  of  the  mean  thoroughfare  I  found  that  the 
"Pilot's  Rest"  was  the  corner  house  at  the  far  end. 

The  hotel  seemed  to  be  of  the  class  frequented  by 
inferior  officers  of  the  mercantile  marine.  The  dingy 
hall  was  ill-lighted,  and  on  one  side  of  it  was  a  counter 
which  did  double  duty  as  a  bar  and  the  office.  Pre- 
siding thereat  was  an  elderly  barmaid,  engaged  for  the 
moment  in  listening  to  a  friendly  argument  between 
two  coasting  skippers. 

"Mr.  Herzog!"  she  repeated,  in  answer  to  my  ques- 
tion. "Yes,  he's  here — arrived  about  half-an-hour 
ago.  If  you're  Mr.  Tennant,  go  right  upstairs,  please, 
and  knock  at  the  second  door  on  the  left.  He's  ex- 
pecting you." 

"Is — is  there  a  lady  with  him?"  I  hazarded,  with 
a  wild  hope  at  my  heart  that  Janet  might  have  come 
to  meet  me,  and  yet  full  of  fear  at  the  risk  she  would 


20  MILLIONS  OF  MISCHIEF 

run  in  assisting  the  escape  of  a  condemned  convict. 

But  no.  With  a  shake  of  her  head  the  woman  de- 
nied me  that  blessed  prospect,  and,  obeying  her  in- 
structions, I  mounted  to  the  first  floor.  A  tap  at  the 
door  she  had  indicated  elicited  a  sharp  command  to 
enter,  and  an  instant  later  I  was  in  the  presence  of— 
my  recent  fellow-passenger. 

He  rose  from  a  table,  on  which  were  a  decanter  of 
whisky  and  a  box  of  cigars,  and  surveyed  me  with  a 
long,  cold  scrutiny  that  was  hardly  that  of  a  friend 
who  had  broken,  and  was  breaking,  the  law  on  my 
behalf.  I  had  a  better  view  of  him  here  in  the  gas-lit 
room  than  in  the  railway  carriage.  His  large,  fleshy 
face  was  thrust  slightly  forward;  his  expressionless 
eyes  seemed  to  be  appraising  me  as  a  marketable  com- 
modity; his  hands  were  pushed  deep  into  his  trousers 
pockets,  holding  back  his  silk-lapeled  frock-coat  and 
disclosing  a  well-filled  waistcoat.  Then,  suddenly,  as 
in  the  next  momentous  days  I  discovered  was  a  habit 
with  the  man,  his  mood  seemed  to  change  and  his  eyes 
brimmed  with  fun. 

"So!"  he  exclaimed,  waving  me  to  a  chair  by  the 
fireplace  and  resuming  his  seat.  "You  were  fright- 
ened of  me  in  the  train,  my  friend,  but  not  so  much 
as  I  of  you." 

"You  were  frightened  of  mef"  I  said  in  honest 
wonder.  ' '  Surely  there  was  nothing  terrifying  in  my 
demeanor  towards  you." 

He  looked  at  me  curiously,  "Not  in  your  demeanor, 
Captain  Rivington,  but  in  your  reputation,"  he  re- 
plied. "It  is  not  a  pleasant  experience  to  take  a  rail- 
way journey  in  the  company  of  a  murderer  who  is  as 


BRINK  OF  THE  SCAFFOLD  21 

yet  ignorant  that  he  is  beholden  to  one  for  arranging 
his  escape." 

I  started  at  his  words.  Was  it  possible  that  this 
man,  who  had  been  the  prime  mover  in  enabling  me 
to  break  prison,  had  done  so  in  the  full  belief  that  I 
was  guilty  of  the  horrible  crime  for  which  I  had  been 
condemned  ?  Yes,  I  could  tell  by  the  frosty  glitter  of 
those  cunning  eyes,  by  the  pitiless  curl  of  the  thin  lips, 
that  whatever  he  had  done  for  me  had  not  been  done 
through  friendship.  The  solace  of  thinking  that  I 
had  been  helped  to  freedom  because  of  my  innocence 
had  been  short-lived  indeed. 


CHAPTER  II 

A  TERRIBLE  TASK 

|HO  are  you,  then,  and  why  have  you  risked 
imprisonment  in  aiding  such  a  desperate 
g|  wretch?"  I  asked  bitterly.  A  swift  intui- 
tion told  me  that  to  protest  my  innocence 
would  be  useless,  and  the  brutal  directness  of  Herzog's 
method  soon  convinced  me  that  I  was  right  in  my 
surmise. 

"Sit  down  and  help  yourself  to  whisky  and  a 
cigar,"  he  said,  pushing  his  chair  back  and  crossing 
his  legs.  "  So !  that  is  better.  It  will  be  wiser  to  dis- 
illusion you  at  once,  my  friend,  from  any  false  hopes 
as  to  rehabilitation.  You  have  been  removed  from 
Winchester  Jail  because  you  are  a  desperate  wretch, 
and  because,  by  doing  one  more  desperate  deed,  there 
is  the  barest  chance  that  you  may  save  your  forfeited 
life." 

"But  what  if  I  refuse?"  I  asked  him. 
He  went  on  in  the  same  even  tones,  as  though  un- 
heeding the  interruption.     "You   are  to   remember 
that  for  the  present  you  are  just  as  much  a  prisoner 
as  if  you  were  back  in  the  condemned  cell,  to  which  at 

22 


A  TERRIBLE  TASK  23 

a  hint  of  revolt  you  would  return.  You  are  mine, 
body  and  soul,  to  do  the  task  I  shall  set  you,  or  go 
back  and  be  hanged  on  Thursday  morning." 

"Then  by  all  means  allow  me  the  privilege  of  hear- 
ing what  it  is  you  wish  me  to  do,"  I  replied,  with  a 
forced  laugh.  Even  thus  early  in  our  intercourse  I 
was  beginning,  from  an  instinct  of  self-preservation, 
to  shape  the  course  I  had  to  steer.  But  I  should  have 
to  keep  a  light  hand  on  the  tiller,  with  a  keen  eye  for 
rocks  and  shoals ;  for  this  was  no  mean  opponent,  and 
he  held  me  surely,  so  far,  in  a  grip  which  he  would 
never  willingly  relax. 

"You  have  killed  two  women,  both  nearly  related 
to  you — killed  them  for  paltry  gain,"  he  said,  pro- 
truding his  fleshy  face  toward  me. 

I  winced  inwardly  from  the  loathsome  charge,  but 
braced  myself  to  answer  callously,  "What  of  that? 
It  is  of  the  future  that  we  speak." 

' '  Good ! "  he  chuckled.  ' '  I  had  begun  to  have  my 
doubts  of  you,  but  that  sounds  better.  Well,  what  I 
want  of  you  is  to  kill  a  man  this  time,  and  I  am  em- 
powered to  give  you  this  assurance,  without  naming 
my  authority,  that  every  facility  will  be  given  you, 
not  only  for  striking  the  necessary  blow,  but  for  get- 
ting clear  away  afterward.  You  can  understand  that 
it  would  not  be  convenient  to  my  principals  to  have 
you  caught." 

' '  The  thing  has  to  be  done  at  once  ? "  I  asked. 

"Within  a  fortnight.  Apart  from  more  vital  con- 
siderations it  might  be  difficult  to  keep  you  from  re- 
capture for  longer  than  that,"  was  the  reply. 

"Permit  me  five  minutes  for  consideration  while  I 


24  MILLIONS  OF  MISCHIEF 

finish  this  excellent  cigar,"  I  said,  playing  up  to  the 
role  which  I  had  adopted  of  calculating  scoundrel. 

"As  we  sleep  here  to-night,  I  will  give  you  as  long 
as  you  like,  but  to  spare  you  needless  trouble,  let  me 
warn  you  not  to  waste  time  on  scheming  to  break  away 
from  me, ' '  said  Herzog,  fixing  me  with  one  of  his  gim- 
let stares.  "As  I  said  before,  you  are  as  much  a  pris- 
oner, here  in  the  'Pilot's  Rest,'  as  you  were  at  Win- 
chester. This  affair  has  not  been  entered  upon  lightly. 
I  have  three  skilled  assistants  in  and  around  the 
hotel." 

I  could  quite  understand  that  he  spoke  truth  in  that, 
for  the  suborning  of  the  warders  at  the  prison  sug- 
gested careful  organization,  in  the  preliminaries  of 
which  the  principal  would  not  have  appeared.  Nor 
was  I  meditating  any  such  attempt  as  he  hinted  at, 
for  the  simple  reason  that  without  friends  and  with- 
out money  my  recapture  would  have  been  only  a  mat- 
ter of  hours.  No,  my  policy  seemed  to  be  to  appear 
to  accede  to  his  demands  in  the  hope  that  during  the 
fortnight's  grace  I  might  discover  the  missing  link  in 
the  evidence  necessary  to  secure  my  pardon.  That  he 
would  be  a  difficult  man  to  deceive  as  to  my  ultimate 
intentions  I  foresaw,  but  I  had  this  in  my  favor,  that 
he  believed  me  guilty,  and  would  not,  if  I  played  my 
cards  well,  suspect  me  of  employing  my  comparative 
liberty  to  upset  the  verdict  of  the  jury.  But  the  ques- 
tion which  pressed  me  most  closely  was  whether  a 
fortnight,  during  which  I  should  doubtless  be  under 
close  surveillance,  would  be  sufficient  for  my  purpose. 
Since  my  arrest  I  had  always  longed  for  a  month  of 
absolute  freedom  to  pursue  independent  inquiries,  and 


A  TERRIBLE  TASK  25 

now  not  only  would  the  time  be  curtailed  by  one  half, 
but  I  should  be  virtually  in  Herzog's  custody.  The 
question  called  for  a  review  of  the  situation,  to  ascer- 
tain if  I  could  extract  a  ray  of  hope  therefrom. 

In  all  truth  it  was  but  the  merest  glimmer.  As  I 
have  stated,  the  alleged  crime  for  which  I  had  been 
condemned  was  the  murder  by  poison  of  my  mother 
and  my  sister,  Clara.  The  widow  and  daughter  of  a 
country  clergyman,  they  had  lived  in  a  modest  way 
in  a  cottage  near  Brockenhurst  in  the  New  Forest,  to 
which  I  had  been  a  visitor  as  often  as  my  military 
duties  as  captain  in  the  artillery  would  allow.  One 
of  the  principal  points  made  against  me  at  the  trial 
was  that  their  deaths  had  occurred,  at  intervals  of  six 
months,  during  these  visits,  and  that  I  was  the  only 
one  who  would  benefit  pecuniarily. 

With  the  nurse  and  the  doctor  I  had  been  present 
at  the  death-beds  of  both  my  dear  ones — my  mother's 
first,  and  a  little  later  my  sister's — and  it  was  on  three 
disjointed  words  that  Clara  had  whispered  in  my  ear 
that  I  had  built  my  slender  hopes.  Raising  herself 
with  her  last  effort,  she  had  mustered  strength  to 
breathe  the  unmeaning  words:  "Man,  mask,  Roger." 
On  being  accused,  I  had  mentioned  this  strange  saying 
to  my  solicitor,  who  had  been  able  to  make  nothing  of 
it  except  that  she  may  have  alluded  to  a  masked  man 
whose  name  was  Roger.  In  this  I  had  agreed  with 
him,  but  I  had  always  thought  that  he  had  made  no 
real  effort  to  trace  out  the  mysterious  "Roger."  In 
fact,  my  solicitor,  like  all  the  world  save  one,  was,  I 
knew,  after  my  first  interview  with  him,  convinced  of 
my  guilt. 


26  MILLIONS  OF  MISCHIEF 

Could  I,  in  a  fortnight,  and  with  the  basilisk  eye  of 
my  unfathomable  liberator  on  me,  run  this  unknown 
Koger  to  ground?  Well,  as  the  alternative  was  to  go 
back  to  Winchester  and  be  hanged  on  Thursday,  I 
would  at  least  make  the  attempt. 

Draining  my  glass,  I  flung  the  stump  of  my  cigar 
into  the  empty  grate  and  met  Herzog's  mocking  gaze. 
I  struggled  not  to  quail  under  it  for  I  had  to  live  up 
to  my  reputation  if  I  was  to  live  at  all.  "A  desperate 
wretch,"  he  had  called  me,  and  a  desperate  wretch 
he  must  continue  to  think  me  while  I  searched  for  a 
rift  in  the  clouds. 

"Well,  my  noble  captain;  I  can  see  that  you  have 
decided  to  cheat  the  gallows  by  the  paradoxical  method 
of  deserving  them  twice  over.  Is  it  not  so?"  he  said. 

"I  appear  to  have  no  option  in  the  matter,"  I  re- 
plied, affecting  the  sullen  resignation  that  under  the 
circumstances  would  have  been  natural  to  the  villain 
he  deemed  me. 

"Pshaw!  I  knew  all  along  that  you,  being  what 
you  are,  would  take  the  sensible  view,  and  there  is 
this  consolation — that  if  you  are  caught  after  crime 
number  two  you  can  only  be  hanged  once,"  he 
chuckled.  ' '  And  now,  my  friend,  that  is  the  last  word 
I  shall  say  to  harrow  you, ' '  he  went  on  in  a  pleasanter 
tone.  "A  little  harshness  was  necessary  to  show  you 
the  futility  of  trying  to  gammon  me  with  pleas  of 
innocence,  but  having  accepted  the  situation  you  shall 
be  treated  with  all  courtesy  during  our  association— 
so  long  as  you  are  true  to  the  compact.  Only  so  long 
as  that,  mind.  But  it  will  be  your  own  fault  if  you 
do  not  find  me  a  cheerful  and  resourceful  comrade, 


A  TERRIBLE  TASK  27 

with  bowels  of  compassion  enough  to  take  a  sporting 
interest  in  your  ultimate  escape." 

Every  word  this  man  spoke  filled  me  with  loathing 
and  disgust.  I  was  not  sure  that  I  did  not  dislike 
his  oily  overtures  for  amity  more  than  his  hostile 
sneers.  "Let  us  come  to  business,"  I  said.  "Who  is 
it  that  I  am  to  kill?  He  should  be  a  person  of  some 
importance  to  warrant  such  elaborate  preparations." 

Herzog  took  a  sip  from  his  glass  and  eyed  me  as 
though  to  discover  if  I  was  ripe  for  the  disclosure. 
"Yes,  he  would  be  considered  important,"  was  my 
custodian's  reply;  "though  from  your  point  of  view 
that  should  make  no  difference.  High-born  and  highly- 
placed  flesh  is  as  susceptible  to  knife  or  bullet  as  that 
of  a  street-hawker.  The  individual  to  whom  you  have 
to  turn  your  attention  is  the  Right  Honorable  George 
Augustus,  Earl  of  Alphington." 

"My  Heaven!"  I  cried  aghast.  "The  Prime  Min- 
ister?" 

"No  less,"  said  Herzog,  watching  me  warily— so 
warily  that  it  was  time  to  play-act  a  little,  and  I  did 
it  with  such  clumsy  craft  as  I  possess. 

"The  head  of  the  cursed  Government  that  spurned 
the  jury 's  recommendation  to  mercy, ' '  I  hissed.  ' '  Her- 
zog, I  know  nothing  of  your  motives,  nor  do  I  care  a 
jot  for  them.  But  give  me  the  means  to  slay  this  in- 
fernal tyrant,  and  I  will  blot  him  out  as  if  he  were  a 
mad  dog.  Lead  me  to  him  as  soon  as  you  like  and 
you  will  not  find  me  fail.  Where  is  my  Lord  Alphing- 
ton?" 

For  a  moment  I  feared  that  I  had  overdone  it,  so 
fiercely  penetrating  grew  Herzog 's  stare.  But  no; 


28  MILLIONS  OF  MISCHIEF 

he  drew  a  long  breath  of  relief  and  poured  himself 
out  a  fresh  drink. 

' '  To-night  Lord  Alphington  is  in  London, ' '  he  said, 
when  he  had  refreshed  himself.  "But  in  a  day  or  two 
he  goes  to  a  mansion  near  Freshwater  in  the  Isle  of 
Wight,  which  he  has  taken  for  the  recess — at  Totland 
Bay,  to  be  precise.  We  also  shall  become  denizens  of 
the  Isle  of  Wight  to-morrow,  my  friend — in  the  char- 
acter of  harmless  summer  visitors. ' ' 

Once  more,  at  the  very  outset  of  my  intercourse 
with  this  remarkable  man,  I  needed  all  the  restraint  I 
could  muster.  My  true  Janet,  the  girl  of  my  heart, 
and  the  only  being  in  the  wide  world  who  believed  in 
me,  was  staying  at  Totland  Bay. 

But  I  succeeded  in  conjuring  up  a  malignant  laugh 
as  I  repeated  the  phrase,  "Harmless  summer  visitors !" 


T 


CHAPTER  III 

I  PICK  UP  A  LADY 

HAT  night  as  I  lay  awake  in  the  bedroom 
which  I  shared  with  Herzog  at  the  Southamp- 
ton Hotel  I  was  elated  and  depressed  by  turns 
at  the  prospect  of  having  Janet  near  me  dur- 
ing the  coming  ordeal.  I  dreaded  dragging  her  into 
the  horrible  vortex  in  which  I  seethed,  and  yet  it  might 
be  that  she  would  be  able  to  help  me  if  I  could  only 
communicate  with  her  unknown  to  Herzog.  Without 
some  one  who  was  a  free  agent  to  aid  me  I  did  not  see 
how  I  was  even  to  attempt  the  solution  of  poor  Clara's 
last  mystic  utterance,  and  Janet  was  the  only  one  to 
whom  I  could  safely  appeal  without  fear  of  being  be- 
trayed. 

On  the  whole,  then,  I  accepted  it  as  a  good  omen 
that  I  was  going  to  the  one  place  where  I  might  find 
an  opportunity  of  enlisting  her  help  if  I  finally  de- 
cided to  do  so. 

Looking  back  at  those  momentous  days,  I  am  struck 
by  the  singular  apathy  of  my  mental  attitude  towards 
the  stupendous  event  of  which  I  was  the  pivot.  I  had 
lost  all  sense  of  proportion.  By  the  side  of  my  own 
sad  case  the  projected  murder  of  the  Prime  Minister, 


30  MILLIONS  OF  MISCHIEF 

under  apparently  powerful  auspices,  seemed  a  com- 
paratively small  matter.  I  was  filled  with  a  mild 
wonder,  whether  such  an  anachronism  as  political 
assassination  was  afoot,  or  whether  Lord  Alphington  's 
death  had  been  planned  by  some  secret  society  of  an- 
archists— that  was  all.  I  was  inclined  to  the  former 
view,  from  the  ease  with  which  my  escape  had  been 
arranged.  It  pointed  to  wire-pullers  in  high-places, 
who  had  sufficient  influence  to  open  the  prison  doors. 
But  seeing  that  I  did  not  mean  to  kill  his  lordship,  I 
really  didn't  care  much. 

From  my  minor  standpoint,  Herzog  was  the  only 
person  that  mattered,  and  when,  toward  morning,  I 
woke  from  a  fitful  sleep  and  found  him  bending  over 
me  with  a  thoughtful  frown,  he  seemed  to  matter 
more  than  ever. 

"Do  not  be  alarmed,"  he  said.  "I  was  only  study- 
ing your  features  as  an  artist.  In  other  words,  I  must 
disguise  you  before  we  set  out  upon  our  enterprise, 
and  I  see  that  your  countenance  is  adaptable.  Your 
mustache  must  come  off,  and  then,  with  the  addition 
of  some  false  side  whiskers,  you  will  be  unrecogniz- 
able. You  will  travel  under  the  great  protection  of 
being  in  the  company  of  the  last  man  in  the  kingdom 
with  whom  you  will  be  looked  for. ' ' 

After  we  had  breakfasted,  he  effected  such  a  change 
in  my  appearance  that  I  should  not  have  known  my- 
self, but  his  method  was  so  simple  that  there  was  but 
little  chance  of  detection.  Shortly  afterward  we  left 
the  hotel,  I  at  his  bidding  preceding  him  by  five  min- 
utes and  waiting  for  him  at  the  corner  of  the  street. 
"Mr.  Tennant,"  the  name  by  which  I  had  passed  at 


I  PICK  UP  A  LADY  31 

the  "Pilot's  Rest,"  was  to  be  discarded  forever,  he 
told  me  as  he  rejoined  me.  Henceforth  I  was  to  be 
"Mr.  Martin,"  an  invalid  in  charge  of  his  private 
medical  man,  while  he  himself  was  in  future  to  be 
known  as  Doctor  Barrables.  So  were  my  tracks  from 
Winchester  to  be  obliterated. 

After  a  visit  to  an  outfitter's,  where  I  was  supplied 
with  several  suits  of  clothes  and  other  necessaries,  we 
made  our  way  to  the  railway  station  and  took  tickets 
for  Lymington.  While  waiting  for  the  train  I  noticed 
that  there  was  unwonted  excitement  round  the  book- 
stall. The  clerk  was  selling  papers  as  fast  as  he  could 
hand  them  over,  and  non-purchasers  were  gleaning 
what  information  they  could  from  the  contents  bills, 
on  which  was  displayed  in  huge  letters  the  legend, 
' '  Escape  of  the  condemned  murderer,  Rivington. ' ' 

I  shuddered,  but  Herzog  went  and  bought  a  paper. 
"It  is  all  right,"  he  said,  after  glancing  at  it.  "The 
police  are  on  a  hot  scent  after  you  to  London.  I  did 
not  spend  a  couple  of  hours  yesterday  at  Winchester 
for  nothing." 

"It  is  dreadful,"  I  faltered. 

"You  will  get  used  to  it— you  must,"  he  whispered 
significantly. 

After  a  little  while,  when  I  found  that  nobody  paid 
the  least  attention  to  me,  I  gained  more  confidence, 
and  by  the  time  we  went  on  board  the  steamer  at 
Lymington  I  had  lost  most  of  my  self-consciousness. 

It  was  a  glorious  summer  day,  and  as  the  boat 
threaded  the  narrow  channel  of  the  river  towards  the 
broad  Solent,  even  I  could  not  but  feel  the  joy  of  life. 
Away  ahead  of  us,  in  the  shimmering  haze,  rose  the 


32  MILLIONS  OF  MISCHIEF 

green  hills  of  the  Isle  of  Wight;  to  the  right  the 
sparkling  tide  danced  gaily  toward  the  Needles  and 
the  open  sea;  to  the  left,  half-a-dozen  white- winged 
yachts  from  Cowes  raced  for  the  Spit  Buoy.  The 
fresh  salt  air  stung  the  face  with  its  promise  of  health. 
Janet  was  somewhere  there  among  those  tree-girt 
villas  now  coming  into  view  under  the  mighty  down 
four  miles  away.  All  this,  and  yesterday  at  this  hour 
I  was  in  the  condemned  cell,  in  the  eye  of  the  law  a 
felon,  doomed  to  die  forty-eight  hours  hence ! 

And  if  I  made  one  little  slip  I  should  return  there 
to  suffer  the  dread  penalty.  The  thought  wiped  away 
the  delight  of  the  contrast  and  brought  me  back  to 
earth  again.  It  being  the  height  of  the  tourist  season 
the  little  steamer  was  crowded,  running  as  it  did  in 
connection  with  the  first  fast  London  train  of  the  day. 
Herzog  had,  doubtless  for  reasons  of  his  own,  taken 
first-class  tickets,  with  the  result  that  we  had  been 
free  to  mount  the  bridge  deck.  He,  who  was  at  once 
my  evil  genius  and  my  preserver,  stood  at  my  side, 
leaning  over  the  rails  and  chattering  trifles  to  me — 
for  the  benefit  of  bystanders. 

Of  these,  the  nearest  was  a  tall,  handsome  girl, 
plainly  but  expensively  dressed,  who,  save  for  a  maid, 
seemed  to  be  traveling  alone.  There  was  an  air  of 
detachment  about  her,  and  yet  of  interest  in  her  im- 
personal surroundings,  that  somehow  gave  the  impres- 
sion of  the  "great  lady."  I  could  see  that  Herzog 
was  keenly  alive  to  her  propinquity,  and  probably 
knew  who  she  was.  At  any  rate,  he  seemed  to  be  talk- 
ing at  her,  laboring  the  relations  supposed  to  subsist 
between  him  and  me. 


I  PICK  UP  A  LADY  33 

"If  you  find  the  air  too  cold  up  here,  Mr.  Martin, 
let  us  go  down  to  the  lower  deck,"  he  said.  "I  can't 
have  you  catching  cold,  you  know,  just  as  you  are 
going  to  begin  your  cure." 

Determined  to  play  my  part  for  the  present,  I  was 
making  some  appropriate  reply,  when  a  broad-shoul- 
dered, slim-waisted  man  came  up  the  stairs  and  ad- 
vanced toward  the  fair  unknown.  There  was  a  swag- 
gering braggadocio  in  his  manner,  a  self-assertion 
about  his  waxed  mustache,  that  filled  me  with  vague 
dislike.  He  glanced  contemptuously  at  me  and  was 
treating  Herzog  to  the  same  sort  of  survey,  when  his 
eyes,  blood-shot  and  red-rimmed  they  were,  dilated 
for  one  fleeting  instant,  and  were  quickly  averted. 

' '  Sorry  I  could  not  come  up  before,  but  I  have  been 
occupied  in  looking  after  your  luggage,"  he  said  as 
he  joined  the  lady. 

"It  doesn't  matter  at  all,"  was  the  reply  that 
sounded  like  a  snub.  "Have  you  done  with  your 
newspaper  yet?  If  so,  I  should  like  to  look  at  it." 

The  gentleman  affected  to  search  in  the  pockets  of 
his  traveling  cape,  and  then  gave  vent  to  an  exclama- 
tion of  annoyance.  ' '  I  must  have  left  it  in  the  train, ' ' 
he  said.  "Are  you  always  as  eager  for  news  as  you 
are  this  morning,  Lady  Muriel  ? ' ' 

' '  No,  but  I  am  particularly  interested  in  this  escape 
that  every  one  is  talking  of,"  was  the  answer  that 
thrilled  me  with  a  wonder  that  increased  tenfold  when 
the  speaker  added  in  a  grave,  sweet  tone,  "Not  on  my 
own  account,  you  know,  but  a  friend  of  mine  is  a 
staunch  believer  in  Captain  Rivington's  innocence, 
and  she  has  affected  me  with  some  of  her  enthusiasm. ' ' 


34  MILLIONS  OF  MISCHIEF 

The  effect  of  this  to  me  astonishing  communication, 
which  presumed  an  acquaintance  between  "Lady 
Muriel"  and  my  Janet,  on  the  person  to  whom  it  was 
addressed  was  marked  and  instantaneous.  His  brows 
contracted  in  a  deep  scowl,  and  he  waved  his  hand 
with  a  gesture  of  impatience. 

"Don't  waste  your  sweetness  on  such  a  scoundrel. 
There  was  no  doubt  that  he  was  guilty— any  more 
than  there  is  that  he  will  speedily  be  caught  and 
hanged,"  was  the  amiable  comment  which,  accom- 
panied with  a  glare  around  that  chanced  to  rest  on  me, 
filled  me  with  nervous  apprehension. 

"You  speak  so  violently  that  the  wish  might  well 
be  father  to  the  thought,"  said  the  girl  coldly. 

"Not  at  all.  I  know  nothing  about  the  case,  and 
care  less."  And  then,  with  the  obvious  intention 
of  changing  the  subject,  my  unknown  detractor  ex- 
claimed, "By  Jove!  look  at  that  big  steamer  we  are 
passing— a  troopship,  I  think." 

We  had  reached  the  narrowest  part  of  the  Solent, 
where  the  long  spit  of  shingle  terminating  in  Hurst 
Castle  stretched  out  toward  the  Wight  opposite,  and 
through  which  the  pent-up  current  swirls  like  a  mill- 
race  seaward.  The  girl  turned  suddenly  to  look  at 
the  huge  vessel  that  was  rapidly  nearing  us,  and  in  her 
excitement  put  her  feet  on  the  lower  rail  and  leaned 
over.  What  followed  happened  so  quickly  that  rec- 
ollection fails  me  to  describe  it.  The  girl,  who  had 
been  called  Lady  Muriel,  overbalanced  herself  and  fell 
into  the  sea;  the  captain  rang  down  a  sharp  "stop" 
to  the  engine-room ;  a  deck-hand  began  to  fumble  with 
a  recalcitrant  life-buoy ;  a  glance  at  the  man  who  had 


I  PICK  UP  A  LADY  35 

first  right  of  rescue  told  me  that  instead  of  availing 
himself  of  it  he  was  running  distractedly  to  and  fro, 
plucking  at  his  waxed  mustache. 

In  that  supreme  moment  I  forgot  everything— for- 
got that  I  was  a  condemned  criminal,  to  whom  at- 
tracted attention  might  probably  mean  death,  forgot 
that  I  wore  a  disguise  that  salt  water  might  ruin; 
forgot,  in  fact,  all  that  was  vital  to  my  own  interests 
in  face  of  the  imminent  catastrophe  of  a  fellow 
creature  drowning  before  my  eyes.  Shaking  off 
Herzog 's  restraining  hand,  I  plunged  overboard  and 
struck  out  for  the  limp  figure  just  floating  to  the 
surface  after  the  first  immersion.  As  she  was  sinking 
again  I  managed  to  grasp  her  dress,  and  so  to  hold  her 
up  till  the  steamer  had  backed  down  to  us.  By  the 
time  we  had  been  helped  on  board  I  was  nearly  ex- 
hausted and  was  only  conscious  that  Herzog,  as  he 
led  me  below  in  an  iron  clutch,  murmured  in  my  ear : 
' '  Idiot !  were  you  trying  to  put  the  noose  round  your 
neck?  If  the  springs  of  those  false  whiskers  hadn't 
held  you'd  have  been  a  dead  man  the  day  after  to- 
morrow. ' ' 

They  warmed  and  dried  me  before  the  furnace  be- 
low, Herzog  superintending  the  operation  with  pro- 
fessional care,  and  procuring  a  change  of  clothes  from 
my  recently-purchased  wardrobe.  During  the  process 
I  was  too  dazed  to  think  of  anything  except  to  rejoice 
that  I  had  saved  a  life,  but  when  I  stood  up,  dry  and 
comfortable  again,  yet  apprehending  a  fresh  outbreak 
of  abuse  from  my  conductor,  I  saw  that  he  had  recov- 
ered his  chronic  good-humor. 

"You  might  have  ruined  everything  by  that  rash 


36  MILLIONS  OF  MISCHIEF 

act,"  he  said,  as  we  returned  to  the  deck.  "You 
would  have  done  so  if  I  had  used  gum  for  those 
whiskers  instead  of  springs.  As  it  is,  you  have  be- 
gun well,  my  friend,  and  have  established  your  foot- 
ing in  your  victim's  camp.  You  will  experience  no 
difficulty  in  approaching  his  lordship  now." 

"Why?"  I  asked,  not  comprehending  his  mood. 

"That  dainty  piece  of  femininity  which  you  pulled 
out  of  the  water  is  no  less  a  personage  than  Lady 
Muriel  Crawshay,  Lord  Alphington's  daughter,"  he 
whispered  with  a  horrid  chuckle  in  my  ear.  ' '  I  shall 
see  to  it  that  you  are  a  persona  grata  now,  my  friend. 
You  shall  be  asked  to  the  house.  You  will  get  your 
chance  for  the  stroke,  which  is  to  make  history,  at 
close  quarters." 

The  treacherous  suggestion  sickened  me,  and  I 
needed  all  my  self-restraint  to  keep  from  telling  him 
that  he  was  mistaken  if  he  expected  his  murderous 
mission  to  benefit  by  the  rescue.  Luckily  at  that  mo- 
ment a  diversion  was  caused  by  Lady  Muriel's  maid, 
who  came  with  a  prettily-worded  message  of  thanks 
from  her  mistress.  Lady  Muriel  was  below,  changing 
into  dry  things  and  recovering  from  the  shock,  but 
she  hoped  to  have  an  opportunity  of  thanking  me  in 
person  before  we  landed. 

That,  however,  was  not  to  be,  for  directly  the  boat 
touched  the  pier  Herzog  hurried  me  ashore,  and  Lady 
Muriel  had  not  yet  reappeared  on  deck. 

"It  would  never  have  done  to  let  her  thank  you 
amid  all  this  hurly-burly,"  he  explained,  as  we  walked 
up  the  pier  ahead  of  the  other  passengers.  "It  might 
have  made  a  premature  end  of  the  whole  business. 


I  PICK  UP  A  LADY  37 

Now  she  will  be  certain  to  look  you  up  at  our  lodgings, 
and  it  shall  not  be  my  fault  if  the  acquaintance  does 
not  ripen." 


CHAPTER  IV 

SO  NEAR  AND  YET  SO  FAB 

T  the  pier-head  a  surprise  of  the  pleasantest 
kind  was  in  store  for  me.    Herzog  stopped 
for  a  moment  to  instruct  the  pier-master 
what  to  do  with  our  luggage. 
"There  are  two  portmanteaus  on  the  steamer,  one 
labeled  'Martin'  and  the  other  'Doctor  Barrables,'  ' 
he  said.     "Please  send  a  porter  up   with  them  to 
'Springthorpe,'  where  we  have  taken  rooms." 

I  walked  on  at  Herzog 's  side,  wondering  if  my  ears 
had  deceived  me,  for  if  I  had  heard  aright  it  seemed 
that  the  hand  of  Fate  was  strong  upon  me — for  good 
or  evil,  who  could  say  ?  ' '  Springthorpe ' '  was,  I  knew, 
the  name  of  the  house  where  Janet  and  her  father, 
Colonel  Chilmark,  had  been  lodging  since  the  winter. 
From  that  address  she  had  sent  me  several  letters 
while  I  was  in  prison,  both  before  and  after  my  trial. 
It  would  go  hard  with  me  if,  staying  under  the  same 
roof  with  my  love,  I  could  not  obtain  speech  with  her 
and  tell  her  my  desperate  case. 

"You  have  already  engaged  rooms?"  I  hazarded, 
mastering  my  emotion  as  we  trudged  up  the  steep 

38 


SO  NEAR  AND  YET  SO  FAR  39 

road  leading  to  the  scattered  clusters  of  red-brick 
villas  that  form  the  rising  watering-place  of  Totland 
Bay.  The  attitude  I  had  assumed  toward  my  task 
made  it  absolutely  necessary  that  I  should  evince  an 
eager  and  intelligent  interest  in  our  programme. 

"I  do  not  jump  in  the  dark,  my  friend,"  my  com- 
panion replied.  "I  have  selected  our  pied-a-terre 
for  two  good  reasons.  The  first  and  most  important 
is  that  our  windows  overlook  the  grounds  of  'Ard- 
more,'  the  mansion  where  Lord  Alphington  is  to 
spend  his  leisure.  The  second,  of  almost  equal  con- 
sequence, is  that  there  is  only  accommodation  for  one 
other  set  of  lodgers,  the  present  ones  being  people, 
according  to  my  information,  who  are  not  at  all  likely 
to  interfere  with  our  plans.  A  retired  Indian  Staff 
Corps  colonel  nursing  a  deranged  liver  with  the  aid 
of  a  devoted  daughter  is  not  a  combination  that  should 
prove  dangerous  to  men  with  a  secret  like  ours." 

The  Colonel's  liver!  How  I  blessed  that  tremen- 
dous factor  in  my  fortunes  at  that  moment.  It  was 
owing  to  that  disorganized  organ  that  my  engagement 
to  Janet  was  a  secret  one.  Nobody  knew  of  it  but 
ourselves  and  my  solicitor.  I  had  only  met  Colonel 
Chilmark  twice,  but  those  two  occasions  had  been 
enough  to  convince  me  that  Janet  paid  a  just  tribute 
to  his  temper  in  not  wishing  to  divulge  our  mutual 
compact  till  we  were  in  a  position  to  marry.  After 
my  arrest,  she  had  written  to  beg  to  be  allowed  to 
show  her  faith  in  me  by  proclaiming  our  engagement, 
but  my  legal  advisers  had  been  dead  against  it.  Not 
only  would  it  have  furnished  the  prosecution  with 
another  weapon  in  an  additional  motive  for  my  alleged 


40  MILLIONS  OF  MISCHIEF 

crime,  but  it  would  have  doomed  the  girl  to  the  life- 
long disgrace  of  having  been  associated  with  me. 

That  we  had  never  been  avowed  lovers  was  greatly 
in  my  favor  now,  for  I  might  be  able  to  communicate 
with  her  before  Herzog  discovered  that  he  had 
chanced  to  establish  me  in  close  propinquity  to  such 
a  staunch  ally. 

Five  minutes'  walk  brought  us  to  "Springthorpe" 
—a  pretty  little  house  standing  in  a  shady  garden. 
As  we  passed  up  the  path  to  the  front  door  my  heart 
beat  wildly,  for  there,  at  the  open  window  facing  us, 
sat  Colonel  Chilmark,  smoking  and  reading  a  news- 
paper. He  looked  up  at  our  approach,  and  favored 
us  with  the  jealous  scrutiny  of  a  seaside  visitor  ap- 
praising possible  fellow-lodgers,  and  it  was  a  good 
test  of  my  disguise  that  he  showed  no  signs  of  recog- 
nition. I  must  have  been  in  his  mind,  too,  for  he 
had  doubtless  been  reading  the  account  of  my  escape. 

The  front  door  stood  open,  and  the  landlady  herself 
darted  out  to  meet  us.  I  studied  her  anxiously, 
guessing  how  much  might  depend  on  her.  I  saw 
with  dismay  that  she  was  a  quick-moving,  bright- 
eyed,  alert  little  woman,  who  would  be  certain  to  see 
and  hear  every  movement  of  her  lodgers  if  she  wanted 
to.  Should  she  prove  as  inquisitive  as  she  looked 
sharp  I  should  have  no  easy  task  in  disclosing  myself 
to  Janet. 

"How  do  you  do,  Mrs.  Krance?  I  have  brought 
my  patient  up  to  time,  you  see,"  said  Herzog,  playing 
his  horrid  part  with  the  ponderous  affability  of  a 
pompous  medico.  "Our  rooms  are  ready,  I  pre- 
sume ? ' ' 


SO  NEAR  AND  YET  SO  FAR  41 

Mrs.  Krance  hesitated  in  her  reply.  Her  small 
birdlike  eyes  seemed  to  be  mastering  every  feature 
of  my  countenance,  and  trembling  before  her  devour- 
ing gaze  I  feared  that  something  had  gone  wrong 
with  my  disguise.  But  the  ordeal  passed,  and  she 
ushered  us  in. 

"Yes,  Dr.  Barrables,  the  rooms  are  quite  ready. 
You  will  find  everything  to  your  liking,  I  am  sure," 
she  said  jerkily,  as  she  opened  the  door  of  the  room 
opposite  that  in  which  Colonel  Chilmark  was  sitting. 
"There  is  only  one  alteration  I  have  been  obliged  to 
make  in  the  arrangements  you  stipulated  for.  I 
cannot  possibly  put  you  both  in  the  same  bedroom." 

"But  that  was  the  essential  part  of  the  bargain, 
Mrs.  Krance,"  said  Herzog  with  displeasure  in  his 
voice. 

"I  cannot  help  it,  sir,"  the  landlady  replied. 
"The  village  is  so  full,  and  there  has  been  such  a 
demand  for  extra  bedsteads  on  hire  that  I  could  not 
procure  two  small  ones  to  go  into  the  bedroom  you 
chose,  in  place  of  the  full-sized  bedstead  there.  And 
there  isn't  space  for  the  only  other  bedstead  I  have, 
also  a  full-sized  one,  to  be  moved  in.  Mr.  Martin  will 
have  to  occupy  the  next  room  to  yours— unless  you 
would  prefer  to  look  elsewhere,  though  I  don 't  believe 
there  are  any  vacant  apartments  in  the  place." 

"The  room  you  propose  for  Mr.  Martin  has  the 
same  aspect  as  mine?"  said  Herzog,  after  a  pause. 

"Exactly  the  same,  sir — over  our  little  bit  of  gar- 
den into  the  grounds  of  'Ardmore,'  with  a  glimpse 
of  the  sea  beyond,"  was  the  reply. 

"Very  well,  we  must  make  the  best  of  it,"  said 


42  MILLIONS  OF  MISCHIEF 

Herzog  with  evident  reluctance.  "You  can  send 
us  up  a  snack  of  something,  and  then  we  shall  prob- 
ably go  for  a  walk." 

As  soon  as  we  were  alone  in  the  sitting-room, 
Herzog  came  up  to  me,  and,  resting  his  hands  on  my 
shoulders,  looked  me  full  in  the  eyes.  I  returned 
the  stare  boldly,  for  I  saw  that  he  was  trying  to  read 
my  inmost  soul.  Finally  he  relaxed  his  grasp  and 
broke  into  a  disagreeable  laugh. 

"I  do  not  think  you  are  so  foolish  as  to  try  to  take 
advantage  of  the  mistake  about  the  bedrooms,  my 
friend,  but  if  there  is  anything  of  that  sort  in  your 
mind  do  not  forget  that  success  in  giving  me  the  slip 
would  also  mean  success  in  getting  yourself  hanged, ' ' 
he  said  softly. 

"Why  do  you  keep  harping  on  that?"  I  replied, 
affecting  to  be  irritated  by  his  suspicions.  "So  long 
as  my  bedroom  window  gives  a  fair  shot  into  the 
'Ardmore'  grounds  you  will  have  no  reason  to 
grumble.  I  am  playing  for  a  bigger  stake  than  you, 
you  know." 

He  appeared  to  be  satisfied,  and  proposed  that  we 
should  go  upstairs  and  view  the  new  arrangement 
which  had  unexpectedly  thwarted  his  intention  not 
to  let  me  out  of  his  presence  by  day  or  by  night. 
Bracing  myself  in  case  we  should  meet  Janet  on  the 
stairs,  I  accompanied  him  to  the  upper  floor,  where, 
after  a  glance  into  the  room  he  had  originally  selected 
for  our  joint  use,  he  led  me  into  the  next  one — a 
slightly  smaller  apartment,  not  quite  so  well  fur- 
nished. 

It  was  the  window  that  interested  him,  and  me  also, 


SO  NEAR  AND  YET  SO  FAR  43 

for  the  matter  of  that.  Immediately  beneath  it  was 
the  small  back  garden  of  the  house  we  were  in;  but 
beyond  that,  separated  by  the  terminal  hedge,  was  a 
lovely  vista  of  well-kept  lawns  and  shrubberies,  with 
a  peep  of  a  large  modern  mansion  between  the  trees. 
I  was  determined  to  take  the  wind  out  of  Herzog's 
sails  this  time. 

"Look  at  that  seat  under  the  lime  tree  by  the 
fountain,"  I  whispered.  "The  distance,  I  judge,  to 
be  a  hundred  and  twenty  yards.  If  Lord  Alphington 
sits  there  I  could  pick  him  off  with  a  sporting  rifle 
to  a  certainty.  That  is,"  I  added  doubtfully,  "if 
you  mean  to  entrust  me  with  firearms. ' ' 

He  gave  me  one  of  his  quick  glances.  Yes,  I  think 
that  the  suppressed  eagerness  in  my  tone  really  did 
deceive  him  that  time,  for  he  broke  into  the  low- 
chuckled  comment:— "When  the  chance  comes,  I  shall 
find  a  weapon  for  you,  never  fear.  But  I  hardly 
think  that  it  will  be  a  thing  that  makes  a  noise  and 
might  compromise  your  presumed  medical  guardian. 
You  seem  to  have  got  your  knife,  figuratively,  into 
his  lordship,  my  noble  captain;  perhaps  I  shall  be 
able  to  engineer  an  opportunity  for  you  to  do  so 
literally." 

He  was  gaining  confidence  in  me,  I  could  see,  but 
was  not  yet  quite  convinced.  I  was  fighting  for  my 
life,  more  or  less  in  the  dark,  remember,  and  to  de- 
ceive this  man  was  the  essence  of  a  righteous  cause. 
I  essayed  another  stroke  on  the  anvil  of  his  unbelief. 

"Look  here!"  I  blurted  out  impetuously.  "The 
chances  from  the  next  room  are  the  same  as  from 
here,  whatever  you  may  be  planning.  If  it  will 


44  MILLIONS  OF  MISCHIEF 

make  you  easier  about  me,  why  shouldn't  we  both 
occupy  the  same  bed  in  there  ?  I  don 't  mind,  if  you 
don't." 

I  had  struck  home.  His  brow  cleared  and  his 
baggy  cheeks  rippled  in  a  voluminous  smile.  "No, 
my  friend,  it  is  not  necessary,"  he  said.  "Why 
should  we  sacrifice  our  comfort,  when  we  see  eye  to 
eye  in  this  matter?  Come,  let  us  refresh  the  inner 
man  before  we  investigate  further." 

For  the  present  Herzog  believed  in  me.  How  long 
should  I  be  able  to  sustain  that  belief? 

So,  ostensibly  on  terms  of  perfect  accord,  we  de- 
scended to  the  sitting-room  and  partook  of  the  meal 
which  Mrs.  Krance  had  prepared  for  us.  As  we  were 
discussing  it  a  well-loved  voice  sounded  in  the  pas- 
sage outside  our  door,  and,  a  moment  later,  looking 
through  the  window,  I  saw  my  Janet's  trim  figure 
pass  down  the  path  and  disappear  through  the  garden 
gate  into  the  road.  She  was  walking  quickly,  as 
though  under  the  influence  of  some  excitement. 

My  heart  thrilled  at  the  probable  cause.  She  must 
have  heard  of  my  escape  from  jail,  and  the  thought 
of  her  reception  of  the  news,  not  daring  to  let  her 
father  see  her  interest  in  it,  brought  home  to  me  the 
slow  agony  she  must  have  suffered  since  my  convic- 
tion. To  have  had  a  lover  lying  under  sentence  of 
death,  and  to  have  been  without  comfort  or  sympathy, 
must  have  been  little  short  of  martyrdom. 

And  how  was  I  to  gain  speech  of  her,  with  the 
lynx  eyes  of  my  custodian  ever  on  me? 


CHAPTER  V 

I  TRY  A  RUSE 

S  my  association  with  Herzog  progressed,  the 
more  was  I  convinced  that  he  was  a  many- 
sided  man.  He  had  the  faculty,  or  at  least 
the  semblance,  of  detaching  himself  from  the 
deadly  purpose  in  hand,  though  without  ever  losing 
sight  of  it,  and  of  thoroughly  enjoying  his  surround- 
ings— his  meat,  his  drink,  his  excellent  cigars,  and  his 
own  conversation.  It  may  be  that  he  only  feigned  this 
attitude  in  order  to  throw  me  off  my  guard,  but  I  am 
inclined  to  think  that  some  of  it  was  natural  to  him. 

"Come,"  he  said,  when  we  had  finished  our  lunch, 
"let  us  combine  business  with  pleasure  and  take  a 
stroll.  As  a  soldier  you  will  want  to  reconnoiter 
your  ground,  while  as  a  student  of  seascapes  I  shall 
be  able  to  indulge  my  hobby.  There  is  nothing  like 
a  combination  of  purple  heather,  blue  water,  and 
lapping  tides  to  make  a  world-wearied  man  feel  young 
again." 

No  one  would  have  suspected  the  speaker  of  en- 
deavoring to  compass  the  death  of  the  greatest  states- 
man of  the  age  by  cold-blooded  murder,  and  when 
we  had  sallied  forth,  still  under  the  vigilant  eye  of 

45 


46  MILLIONS  OF  MISCHIEF 

Colonel  Chilmark  at  his  window,  I  plucked  up  spirit 
to  rally  him  on  the  subject. 

"You  are  pretty  cheerful,"  I  said,  "considering 
that  if  I  succeed  in  killing  the  Prime  Minister  and 
am  caught  afterwards,  you  will  most  assuredly  be 
hanged  as  an  accessory  before  and  after  the  act. ' ' 

Had  I  touched  him  on  the  raw?  For  one  fleeting 
second  I  thought  so,  from  the  swift  contraction  of 
his  brows  and  the  quaking  of  his  baggy  cheeks.  But 
no.  He  placed  his  forefinger  alongside  his  fleshy 
nose  and  solemnly  winked  at  me. 

"Make  your  mind  easy  on  my  account,  and  also 
on  your  own, ' '  he  chuckled.  ' '  In  the  fact  that  I  shall 
take  good  care  that  you  are  not  caught  lies  my  safety, 
and  yours.  Within  limits  we  are  hunting  in  couples 
— with  this  difference,  that  if  the  catastrophe  you 
foreshadow  should  occur,  I  have  a  nice  little  bolt-hole, 
all  cut  and  dried,  to  wriggle  out  of.  But  his  lordship 
does  not  arrive  till  the  day  after  to-morrow,  so  let 
us  shove  black  care  into  the  background  to-day.  By 
George !  what  a  view. ' ' 

We  had  turned  out  of  the  road  in  which  we  lodged, 
and  had  passed  round  into  that  on  which  ' '  Ardmore ' ' 
fronted.  It  ran  at  right  angles  to  the  cliffs,  and  both 
ahead  of  us  and  to  the  left  stretched  the  glorious 
panorama  that  had  called  forth  Herzog's  exclama- 
tion. Under  a  cloudless  sky  the  sea,  framed  in  the 
emerald  leafage  of  the  nearer  distance,  shimmered  in 
the  dancing  sun-rays,  while  the  grand  curve  of  the 
island  coast-line  swept  round  to  the  wave-washed 
sentinels  of  the  Solent,  the  Needles  Rocks. 

I  gave  vent  to  what  was  intended  to  be  a  snort  of 


I  TRY  A  RUSE  47 

disdain.  "I  have  no  taste  for  scenery  so  long  as  my 
neck  is  in  danger,"  I  growled.  "These  appear  to  be 
the  entrance  gates  of  Alphington's  residence.  Why 
should  we  not  call  to  inquire  if  Lady  Muriel  is  any 
worse  for  her  ducking?  It  would  give  me  an  oppor- 
tunity of  prospecting  the  lay  of  the  land." 

But  Herzog,  as  I  had  hoped  he  would,  dissented 
vigorously  from  the  proposal.  "I  perceive  that  I 
shall  have  to  ride  you  on  the  curb,"  he  said.  "It 
would  be  a  fool 's  trick,  betokening  eagerness  and  pos- 
sibly engendering  suspicion,  to  do  any  such  thing. 
The  first  overtures  must  come  from  the  other  side." 

In  spite  of  his  prohibition,  I  lingered  for  a  moment 
at  the  gates,  peering  up  the  carriage-drive,  and  pre- 
tending to  scrutinize  windows  and  doors,  till  Herzog 
plucked  me  angrily  by  the  sleeve. 

' '  You  will  give  the  show  away  if  you  carry  on  so, ' ' 
he  snarled.  "I  have  a  plan  of  the  house,  which  you 
can  safely  study  indoors  if  it  becomes  necessary.  By 
reconnoitering  your  ground  I  meant  that  you  should 
master  the  geography  of  the  neighborhood,  for  it  is 
most  probable  that  it  will  be  in  the  open  country  that 
you  will  get  your  chance." 

So  we  started  for  an  exploration  of  the  lanes  and 
by-ways,  taking  an  inland  course  towards  Fresh- 
water first,  and  returning  to  Totland  by  way  of  the 
heather-clad  warren.  Any  minute  a  breach  of  confi- 
dence on  my  part  toward  Herzog,  or  close  pressure 
by  the  pursuers,  who  were  in  full  cry  after  me,  might 
drive  me  to  fly  for  my  life,  and  I  had  used  my  walk, 
not,  as  I  led  my  companion  to  believe,  to  search  for 
convenient  spots  to  kill  Lord  Alphington,  but  rather 


48  MILLIONS  OF  MISCHIEF 

in  looking  about  for  routes  of  retreat  in  case  of 
emergency. 

In  all  truth  it  was  a  difficult  place  to  win  free  from. 
I  was  not  only  on  an  island,  but  on  a  narrow  prom- 
ontory of  it,  bounded  on  three  sides  by  the  sea — 
a  populous  triangle  at  any  time,  but  now  ten-fold  so 
by  reason  of  the  summer  visitors.  We  met  girls  in 
blouses  and  young  men  in  flannels,  afoot  and  on 
bicycles,  at  every  turn,  and  more  than  once  I  heard 
these  gay  butterflies  chattering  as  we  passed  about 
' '  the  escaped  murderer, ' '  and  speculating  as  to  his  re- 
capture. 

Yet,  if  flight  were  difficult,  I  found  that,  small  as 
was  the  area  at  my  disposal,  there  were  several  routes 
that  could  be  attempted.  To  reach  the  mainland  I 
could  either  take  steamer  at  Totland  or  at  Yarmouth 
for  Lymington,  or  I  could  make  my  way  northward 
across  the  island  to  Hyde  or  Cowes,  and  there  embark 
for  Portsmouth  or  Southampton — provided  I  could 
lay  hands  on  some  money.  There  was  plenty  at  my 
bankers,  waiting  to  be  handed  over  to  Janet  under  a 
will  I  had  made  in  prison,  so  soon  as  I  should  have 
been  hanged,  but  I  could  not  get  at  it. 

Speculating  gloomily  on  my  lack  of  funds,  I  put  the 
question  to  Herzog: — "How  am  I  to  get  away  after 
I  have  settled  Alphington?  I  can't  make  tracks  for 
South  America  without  a  supply  of  cash." 

"You  will  have  a  sufficiency — when  you  have 
earned  it.  I  have  gained  faith  in  you,  my  friend. 
You  really  must  have  a  little  in  me,"  was  all  the 
reply  he  would  vouchsafe.  Evidently  I  was  not  to 
be  trusted  with  money  before  the  end  was  gained. 


I  TRY  A  RUSE  49 

I  could  not  press  him  further,  for  we  were  de- 
bouching onto  the  turfed  promenade  in  front  of  the 
hotel,  now,  in  the  cooler  hours  of  the  afternoon, 
crowded  with  visitors.  Almost  before  I  realized  what 
was  happening,  we  came  face  to  face  with  Lady 
Muriel  and  her  male  companion  of  the  morning,  and 
with  them— Janet,  a  whole  history  of  anguish  in  her 
troubled  eyes. 

I  lived  a  lifetime  in  the  ensuing  ten  seconds.  I 
almost  felt  the  drop  give  way  under  my  feet.  Would 
my  love  recognize  me  under  my  disguise,  and,  if  so, 
would  she  have  the  self-control  to  conceal  it?  After 
one  furtive  glance  I  dared  not  look  at  her  to  see,  but 
in  that  flash  of  time  I  thought  I  detected  a  faint 
tinge  of  color  mounting  in  the  pale,  wan  cheeks. 

Lady  Muriel  advanced  with  extended  hand,  and 
very  prettily  expressed  her  gratitude  for  the  service 
rendered. 

"It  was  naughty  of  you  to  run  away  from  the 
steamer  without  giving  me  an  opportunity  of  thank- 
ing you,"  she  added.  "My  father  will  be  here  in  a 
day  or  two,  and  I  am  sure  he  will  want  to  join  his 
thanks  with  mine." 

Afraid  of  the  effect  my  voice  might  have  on  Janet, 
and  conscious  that  Lady  Muriel's  escort  was  regard- 
ing me  with  a  sinister  scowl,  I  only  mumbled  a  few 
incoherent  words.  I  positively  felt  Herzog's  glare 
on  the  nape  of  my  neck,  and  I  knew  that,  from  his 
point  of  view,  I  was  acquitting  myself  badly. 

"Let  me  introduce  you  to  my  rescuer  and  his  med- 
ical attendant,"  Lady  Muriel  chattered  on,  turning 
to  those  with  her:  "Mr.  Marske  and  Miss  Chilmark 


50  MILLIONS  OF  MISCHIEF 

— Mr.  Martin  and  Doctor  Barrables.  You  see,  Mr. 
Martin,  I  have  already  ascertained  the  name  of  my 
preserver  from  the  pier-master  who  had  charge  of 
your  luggage.  I  was  not  going  to  let  you  off  as  easily 
as  your  modesty  seemed  to  expect." 

In  bowing  to  Mr.  Marske,  whom  I  guessed  from  her 
association  with  him  to  be  a  relative  of  Sir  Gideon 
Marske,  the  Chancellor  of  the  Exchequer,  I  noticed 
a  curious  curl  of  his  lip  at  her  pronouncement  of 
Herzog's  pseudonym.  Having  effected  the  introduc- 
tion, Lady  Muriel,  with  charming  impetuosity,  turned 
to  accompany  us,  chatting  gaily.  By  an  adroit  move- 
ment Marske  took  possession  of  Herzog,  going  on  a 
little  in  advance,  with  the  result  that  I  followed  with 
Lady  Muriel  and  Janet. 

I  was  walking  on  Lady  Muriel's  left,  and  Janet  on 
her  right,  so  that  for  purposes  of  secret  communica- 
tion, with  this  lively  barrier  between  us,  my  sweet- 
heart and  I  were  poles  asunder.  Yet  it  might  be  a 
case  of  now  or  never.  Every  minute  lost  in  making 
myself  and  my  desperate  straits  known  to  Janet  was 
a  step  toward  the  gallows.  Surely  my  wits  could 
find  a  straw  to  clutch  at. 

No,  not  a  straw,  but  a  common  bit  of  thorny  hedge- 
rose,  plucked  and  cast  aside  by  some  tripper  earlier 
in  the  day.  I  spied  it  lying  on  the  turf  ahead  of  us, 
and  so  contrived  as  to  steer  Lady  Muriel  straight  over 
it.  "Would  it?  Would  it?  Yes,  it  stuck  to  her 
dainty  skirts  and  trailed  after  her,  hampering  her 
graceful  gait  and  causing  instant  annoyance. 

"Would  you  mind,  Mr.  Martin?  There's  a  horrid 
thing  on  my  dress,"  she  turned  to  me  graciously. 


I  TRY  A  RUSE  51 

I  was  on  my  knees  in  a  moment,  fumbling  clumsily 
and  to  no  purpose. 

"Miss— ah,  Chilmark,"  I  said,  intentionally  hesi- 
tating at  the  name  and  not  daring  to  look  up.  "Your 
fingers  are  probably  more  deft  than  mine.  Would 
you?  Ah,  now  we  shall  be  all  right." 

And  then,  as  my  dear  girl  stooped  to  help  me,  I 
whispered  in  her  ear— 

"For  God's  sake  command  yourself.  It  is  I— 
Arthur.  Lodging  at  Springthorpe.  Must  see  you, 
unknown  to  the  man  with  me." 

Her  soft  palm,  after  detaching  the  bramble,  closed 
for  a  second  on  my  wrist.  I  took  it  as  a  signal  that 
she  understood. 


w 


CHAPTER  VI 

CREAKING  OF  THE  STAIR 

ITH  the  diclosure  of  my  identity  to  Janet 
I  felt  that  my  affairs  had  entered  on  a  new 
phase.  But,  though  it  had  cleared  the  ground 
of  one  obstacle  earlier  than  I  could  have 
hoped  for,  it  could  not  be  deemed  to  have  brought 
me  much  nearer  to  the  solution  of  the  mystery  that 
enshrouded  the  death  of  my  mother  and  sister.  By 
that  alone  could  I  put  myself  in  a  position  to  defy 
Herzog  and  expose  the  conspiracy  against  the  Prime 
Minister. 

Though  Janet  now  knew  me,  and  knew  also  that 
I  was  staying  in  the  same  house  with  her,  I  was  as 
far  as  ever  from  obtaining  the  private  interview  with 
her  that  was  necessary  to  turn  her  loving  loyalty  to 
a  practical  use.  That  interview  would  have  to  be  of 
considerable  duration,  too,  in  order  to  explain  fully 
the  importance  I  attached  to  that  last  strange  utter- 
ance of  poor  Clara  in  her  death  agony.  And  when  it 
was  explained  I  greatly  feared  that  it  would  be  beyond 
my  dear  girl's  powers  to  cope  with  the  puzzle  in  the 
limited  time  at  our  disposal. 

62 


CREAKING  OF  THE  STAIR  53 

Yet  the  revelation  of  my  personality  was  a  distinct 
advance,  and  when  I  sat  down  to  dinner  with  Herzog 
in  our  lodgings  I  was  in  better  spirits  than  since  the 
judge  had  pronounced  my  doom.  Sometimes,  when 
Mrs.  Krance  opened  the  door  to  bring  in  a  fresh 
course,  I  could  hear  Colonel  Chilmark's  querulous 
tones  and  Janet's  sweet  voice  in  the  room  across  the 
passage,  and  I  had  much  ado,  under  my  companion's 
inscrutable  eyes,  to  dissemble  my  interest  in  our  fel- 
low-lodgers. 

Curiously  enough  it  was  Herzog  himself  who  re- 
ferred to  them,  and  his  reference  caused  me  a  qualm 
of  alarm.  The  man's  methods  were  so  subtle  that  I 
could  not  be  sure  he  was  not  testing  my  apparent 
listlessness  about  the  Chilmarks.  He  had  been  in 
front  of  us  when  I  released  Lady  Muriel's  dress  from 
the  bramble  on  the  cliff-walk,  but  he  was  the  kind  of 
person  who  has  eyes  in  the  back  of  his  head. 

"Nice  people — those  opposite,"  he  remarked  with 
a  shrewd  twinkle  in  his  inconstant  eyes.  ''The  girl, 
at  any  rate.  It  is  on  the  cards  that  I  may  have  to 
cultivate  the  Colonel's  acquaintance  before  our  little 
business  is  finished." 

"The  less  we  have  to  do  with  outsiders  the  better, 
I  should  say,"  was  the  growling  comment  I  forced 
myself  to  make.  Was  I,  I  wondered,  playing  the 
outcast,  truculent  villain  to  the  life,  or  only  bungling 
my  part,  to  the  secret  amusement  of  this  close  ob- 
server? I  would  have  given  the  world  to  know. 

"How  did  Mr,  Marske  strike  you?"  he  went  on, 
chatting  just  as  if  we  were  what  we  professed  to  be 
— two  seaside  idlers  with  nothing  to  do  but  gossip. 


54  MILLIONS  OF  MISCHIEF 

"I  thought  him  a  man  in  a  bit  of  a— what  shall  we 
say— a  predicament." 

' '  In  what  way  ? "  I  snapped,  for  Mr.  Marske  didn  't 
trouble  me  two  straws. 

"He  seemed  to  me  to  be  like  Issachar — an  ass  be- 
tween two  burdens,"  grinned  Herzog.  "In  other 
words,  I  diagnosed  him  as  a  man  making  duty  love  to 
one  woman,  while  his  real  attraction  was  toward  the 
other." 

I  was  sorely  tried,  but  under  cover  of  helping  my- 
self to  a  banana  I  managed  to  laugh,  "And  which 
might  be  the  object  of  what  you  call  the  'duty'  love ?" 

"Lady  Muriel,  of  course;  being  from  the  matri- 
monial standpoint  a  prize  to  a  penniless  man,"  was 
the  reply  that  once  more  strained  my  powers  of  self- 
control  almost  to  breaking  point.  The  horrible  in- 
ference that  this  fellow  Marske,  who  had  gratuitously, 
and  in  my  hearing,  gone  out  of  his  way  to  vilify  me, 
and  who  had  inspired  me  with  instinctive  repugnance, 
should  be  making  eyes  at  Janet  was  gall  and  worm- 
wood. 

"A  sort  of  Blue  Beard,"  I  forced  myself  to  com- 
ment carelessly. 

"Yes,  his  record  would  blacken  a  whole  street," 
Herzog  mused  aloud.  "And  the  trouble  of  it  is  that 
—ah,  bah!  what  am  I  talking  of?"  he  checked  him- 
self. "After  all,  I  am  discussing  the  gentleman  with 
one  to  whom  the  subject  of  records  must  be  a  sore 
point.  A  thousand  pardons,  my  friend,  I  did  not 
offend  intentionally." 

His  reluctance  to  hurt  my  feelings— the  feelings, 
be  it  understood,  of  one  whom  he  deemed  a  cruel 


CREAKING  OF  THE  STAIR  55 

murderer— was,  I  felt  sure,  an  excuse  for  stopping 
short  in  a  sentence  not  meant  for  my  ears.  It  was 
a  revelation  to  me  that  this  Sphinx-like  plotter  could 
be  guilty  of  such  a  laxity  as  letting  his  tongue  run 
away  with  him.  That  he  would  do  so  except  under 
the  strongest  emotion  I  could  not  believe,  but  what 
could  there  be  in  common  between  this  conspirator 
against  the  Prime  Minister  and  the  son  of  a  member 
of  the  Cabinet?  I  could  not  answer  the  enigma, 
but  I  was  not  likely  to  lose  sight  of  it. 

"Come,"  said  Herzog  at  the  conclusion  of  our 
repast,  "let  us  go  over  to  the  hotel  and  play  a  game 
of  billiards,  or  look  on  if  we  cannot  get  the  table. 
There  must  be  nothing  mysterious  about  our  move- 
ments. To  play  the  hermit  in  a  place  like  this  would 
be  to  attract  attention,  and  that  might  result  in " 

He  took  his  fat  neck  in  his  white  capable-looking 
hand  and  made  a  significant  motion  as  of  choking 
himself.  I  understood  the  allusion  and  saw  the  force 
of  his  argument,  though  it  was  distressing  to  have 
to  leave  the  house.  I  had  hoped  all  through  dinner 
that  we  should  sit  in  the  garden,  perhaps,  or  in  our 
sitting-room  with  the  door  open,  and  that  I  might  be 
able  to  find  or  make  an  opportunity  of  speech  with 
Janet.  To  think  of  her  as  just  across  that  narrow 
passage,  eating  her  heart  out  for  that  opportunity, 
was  maddening. 

However,  preserving  my  chronic  demeanor  of  surly 
obedience,  I  rose  and  went  out  with  him  in  the  dusk 
to  the  hotel,  where  I  was  glad  to  find  the  billiard 
table  not  only  occupied  but  engaged — four  deep. 
There  was  nothing  to  do  but  to  sit  in  a  corner  and 


56  MILLIONS  OF  MISCHIEF 

watch  the  play,  while  Herzog  talked  to  his  neighbors 
on  the  settee  and  advertised  our  ostensible  reason  for 
being  at  Totland.  I  was  treated  with  due  respect 
as  a  wealthy  invalid  traveling  with  his  private  medi- 
cal man,  and  I  dare  say  I  looked  ill  enough.  It  waa 
not  conducive  to  a  robust  appearance  to  hear  the 
smart  young  stockbrokers  and  pursy  business  men 
from  London  wagering  their  sovereigns  for  and 
against  the  recapture  of  "the  Brockenhurst  mur- 
derer. ' ' 

At  ten  o'clock  we  left  the  hotel  and  returned  to 
' '  Springthorpe, ' '  and  on  approaching  the  house  my 
hopes  sank  as  I  saw  that  there  was  no  light  in  the 
Chilmarks'  sitting-room.  Janet  and  her  father  had 
retired  for  the  night,  and  I  had  lost  a  day  in  the 
task  before  me. 

Hearing  us  enter,  Mrs.  Krance  appeared  from  the 
back  regions,  her  little  ferret  face  encircled  in  curl 
papers. 

"I  don't  know  if  you  gentlemen  want  anything 
more,"  she  said  with  acerbity.  "This  is  an  early 
house,  and  I  was  about  to  go  to  bed." 

Herzog  gave  her  a  sharp  glance  and  pulled  out  his 
watch.  "Why,  it  isn't  half-past  ten,"  he  replied. 
"Come,"  he  added  in  his  oiliest  manner,  "you  are 
not  yourself  to-night,  Mrs.  Krance.  Something  has 
upset  you." 

"Well,  yes;  it  isn't  to  you  I  ought  to  be  cross, 
Doctor,"  said  the  woman  obviously  mollified.  "The 
fact  is  my  other  lodgers,  that  I  thought  were  per- 
manent, gave  me  notice  to-day  of  leaving  at  the  end 
of  the  week.  Then  they  took  it  back  again,  after 


57 


the  young  lady  came  in  from  her  walk,  and  want  to 
stay  on  indefinite.  I  don't  hold  with  such  blowing 
hot  and  cold,  and  me  given  no  reasons. ' ' 

For  the  fraction  of  a  second  Herzog 's  brows  con- 
tracted. "No,  Mrs.  Krance,  it  is  always  annoying 
when  we  cannot  divine  people's  reasons,"  he  said,  his 
eyes  fixed  on  me  as  he  spoke.  "But  if  you  are  not 
to  lose  your  lodgers,  all's  well  that  ends  well.  So  far 
as  we  are  concerned,  by  all  means  go  to  bed  as  soon 
as  you  like,  for  we  are  going  up  too.  One  word, 
though.  Mr.  Martin  is  an  invalid,  you  know.  Are 
you  a  light  sleeper— in  case  I  should  want  hot  water, 
or  anything,  for  him  in  the  night?" 

"I  can't  say  that  I  am,  sir;  I  have  such  a  hard 
day's  work  that  I  sleep  pretty  sound,"  the  landlady 
replied. 

"Ah,  well,  let  us  hope  that  the  occasion  for  dis- 
turbing your  rest  will  not  arise, ' '  said  Herzog  affably. 
"Good-night  to  you,  Mrs.  Krance,  and  pleasant 
dreams. ' ' 

The  breeze  with  the  waspish  little  woman  over,  we 
took  our  candlesticks  and  went  upstairs.  I  felt  that 
it  was  a  tribute  to  my  duplicity  that  Herzog  parted 
with  me  at  the  door  of  his  bedroom  without  any 
warning  against  attempts  to  escape.  I  had  lulled 
him  into  complete  confidence  in  my  motives  and  in- 
tentions—unless, horrible  thought,  his  net  was  drawn 
so  securely  round  me  that  he  knew  I  could  not 
break  away  from  him.  I  remembered  that  at  South- 
ampton he  had  alluded  to  subordinates.  Possibly  he 
was  putting  his  trust  in  them  to  watch  the  house, 
though  neither  on  the  boat  nor  since  our  landing  in 


58  MILLIONS  OF  MISCHIEF 

the  island  had  I  seen  him  speak  to  any  persons  who 
would  be  likely  to  be  his  colleagues. 

Left  alone  in  my  bedroom  I  reviewed  the  situation 
as  I  mechanically  began  to  undress.  It  seemed  hope- 
less to  gain  speech  with  Janet  that  night,  though  she 
was  in  the  same  house,  and  must  be  only  a  few  yards 
away.  Yet,  that  she  meant  to  endeavor  to  grant 
my  whispered  appeal  for  an  interview  was  evident 
from  the  news  indirectly  brought  by  Mrs.  Krance. 
The  revocation  of  the  Chilmarks'  notice  to  leave  I 
looked  on  in  the  light  of  a  message.  It  was  a  blessed 
promise  that  Janet  would  stick  to  me,  and  I  could 
only  trust  that  fortune  would  be  kinder  to  me  on  the 
morrow  and  allow  me  to  meet  her. 

At  least  there  was  a  change  in  my  circumstances 
for  the  better.  Two  nights  ago  I  had  slept  in  the 
condemned  cell  at  Winchester ;  last  night  I  had  slept 
in  a  shady  hotel  at  Southampton ;  to-night  I  was  going 
to  sleep,  if  I  could,  in  a  decent  lodging  in  a  rising 
watering-place.  If  I  could  keep  up  this  rate  of 
arithmetical  progression,  where  should  I  be  at  the 
end  of  Herzog's  fortnight?  Nothing  short  of  being 
honorably  free,  with  character  and  friends  restored, 
would  satisfy  me,  and  that,  as  my  sudden  fit  of  ela- 
tion passed,  I  perceived  to  be  nearly  as  far  from 
realization  as  ever. 

For  what  mattered  the  slight  increase  in  personal 
comfort,  what  would  Janet's  propinquity  and  loving 
care  avail  me,  so  long  as  I  was  a  hunted  criminal,  with 
the  black  shadow  of  a  recorded  sentence  hanging 
over  me  ?  Even  if  I  could  fool  Herzog  a  little  longer 
in  the  pretense  that  I  meant  to  carry  out  his  mur- 


CREAKING  OF  THE  STATE  59 

derous  behest,  the  end  would  be  as  surely  and  inexor- 
ably the  same  as  though  I  had  never  quitted  the 
prison  cell. 

Unless — some  unseen  devil  whispered  in  my  ear — 
unless  I  ceased  to  deceive  Herzog  and  steeled  myself 
to  sear  my  soul  with  the  stupendous  crime  he  had 
liberated  me  to  commit. 

With  a  shudder  I  drove  the  vile  temptation  away, 
and  presently  flung  myself  on  the  bed  and  slept. 
But  sound  slumber  was  not  for  a  poor  nerve-racked 
creature  such  as  I  had  become,  and  after  a  while  I 
was  awakened  by  the  sound  of  movement,  faint  but 
unmistakable,  beyond  the  lath  and  plaster  partition 
separating  Herzog 's  room  from  mine. 

Late  as  was  the  hour  my  custodian  was  up  and 
stirring.  Yes,  and  he  was  doing  more  than  that — 
he  was  stealthily  leaving  the  house.  For  after  I  had 
lain  breathlessly,  but  in  vain,  waiting  for  a  repetition 
of  the  sounds  in  the  next  room,  I  heard  another  of  a 
different  kind  a  little  further  off. 

Not  loud  enough  to  awaken  a  sleeper,  but  quite 
audibly  to  one  listening  with  straining  ears  as  I  was, 
a  stair  creaked. 


CHAPTER  VII 

JANET  READS  THE  RIDDLE 

|HROWING  on  some  clothes,  I  softly  opened 
my  bedroom  door  and  stole  out  on  to  the 
landing  in  time  to  gain  confirmation  of  my 
surmise.  There  was  a  window  at  the  stair- 
head, overlooking  the  front  garden  and  the  road,  and, 
sure  enough,  there  was  Herzog,  plainly  distinguishable 
in  the  moonlight,  in  the  act  of  passing  out  through  the 
gate.  Turning  to  the  left,  he  walked  off  briskly  and 
disappeared. 

My  first  sensation  was  one  of  intense  curiosity  as 
to  why  he  should  have  gone  out  at  such  an  hour. 
That  important  business  had  taken  him  afield  was 
self-evident,  since,  for  all  his  apparent  confidence  in 
me,  he  would  not  willingly  have  left  me  unguarded. 
His  nocturnal  expedition,  too,  must  have  been  pre- 
meditated, I  guessed,  when  his  questioning  of  Mrs. 
Krance  as  to  her  powers  of  sleep  recurred  to  me. 

But  what  was  the  use  of  speculating  on  the  motives 
of  such  a  man,  when  his  exodus  had  left  me  unsuper- 
vised,  for  a  few  minutes  at  any  rate,  under  the  roof 
that  covered  Janet?  I  turned  wildly  from  the  win- 
dow to  scan  the  doors  giving  on  to  the  landing,  won- 

60 


JANET  READS  THE  RIDDLE  61 

dering  which  was  hers,  when,  lo !  one  of  them  opened, 
and  there  stood  Janet  herself,  peering  at  me  in  the 
half-light. 

Then  she  stole  forward  with  a  suppressed  cry  of 
recognition  and  pillowed  her  fair  head  on  my  breast. 
What  followed— the  few  words  we  dared  whisper- 
concern  no  one  but  ourselves,  nor  could  I  remember 
them  if  I  would.  Janet  was  the  first  to  recover  her- 
self, and  with  her  finger  to  her  lips  led  me  into  the 
room  whence  she  had  emerged. 

"This  is  no  time  for  false  prudery,"  she  observed, 
when  she  had  softly  closed  the  door.  "We  might 
be  heard  if  we  talked  on  the  landing,  and  my  room 
has  an  equal  advantage  as  to  the  window.  The  out- 
look is  the  same,  and  we  shall  be  able  to  watch  for 
that  man's  return  while  we  talk." 

"You  heard  him  go  out?"  I  said,  taking  up  my 
station  behind  the  curtain. 

"Heard  him  and  saw  him,"  my  brave  lass  replied. 
"Did  you  think  that  I  should  do  anything  but  wait 
and  watch  till  I  had  spoken  with  you!" 

Recognizing  that  every  moment  was  of  value  if  I 
was  to  make  her  understand  how  I  was  situated,  I 
began  my  narrative  at  once,  and  without  any  pre- 
amble told  her  of  all  that  had  happened  in  connec- 
tion with  my  escape  from  jail,  and  of  the  fearful  con- 
dition that  had  been  laid  on  me  by  my  mysterious 
liberator.  Naturally  she  was  greatly  shocked  that 
such  a  dastard  design  should  be  hatching  against  Lord 
Alphington,  but  her  horror  was  evidently  blunted  by 
her  concern  for  me. 

"You   must   get  away   from   this   terrible   man's 


62  MILLIONS  OF  MISCHIEF 

clutches,  Arthur,"  she  insisted.  "With  my  help 
surely  it  can  be  managed,  for  the  chance  he  has  given 
you  to-night  shows  that  he  is  not  infallible." 

But  I  had  to  dash  her  hopes  with  the  expressed 
conviction  that  Herzog  would  never  have  left  the 
house,  even  trusting  me  as  I  believed  he  did,  unless 
he  had  taken  steps  to  prevent  my  eluding  him.  And 
I  went  on  to  say  that  life  would  be  of  no  use  to  me, 
that  I  would  just  as  soon  go  back  and  be  hanged,  if  I 
could  not  turn  my  spuriously-won  respite  to  good 
account. 

"I  have  no  mind  to  be  a  hunted  fugitive  for  the 
rest  of  my  days,  which  would  be  my  lot  if  I  could 
shake  Herzog  off,"  I  said.  And  I  proceeded  to  tell 
her  how,  when  the  venal  warder  had  broached  the 
news  of  my  coming  escape,  my  one  idea  had  been  to 
utilize  it  to  clear  my  name  by  finding  the  real  scoun- 
drel who  had  done  my  mother  and  sister  to  death. 
I  narrated  the  grounds  of  that  forlorn  hope— my 
dying  sister's  last  words:  "Man,  mask,  Roger." 

Janet  had  stationed  herself  behind  the  other  win- 
dow curtain  to  help  me  in  my  vigil  for  Herzog 's  re- 
turn. The  slanting  moonbeams  fell  on  her  motionless 
figure  in  the  pretty  blue  dressing-gown  and  touched 
her  beautiful,  wistful  face  with  a  tender  glow  all 
through  our  scarcely  audible  conversation.  But  now, 
at  the  sound  of  those  to  me  meaningless  words,  she 
started,  and  her  dear  eyes  shone  with  swift  excite- 
ment. 

"Say  those  words  again,  Arthur,"  she  scarcely 
breathed. 

"Man,  mask,  Eager,"  I  repeated.      "Clara  must 


63 

have  referred  to  a  man  called  Roger  who  wore  a  mask, 
probably  for  the  purpose  of  his  crime." 

The  wash  of  the  tide  on  the  shore  of  the  bay  alone 
broke  the  silence  as  Janet  gazed  across  at  me.  A 
dawn  of  hope,  in  which  a  great  fear  mingled,  had 
come  into  her  face. 

"Arthur,"  she  whispered,  "what  if  the  man's  name 
sounded  like  that— not  mask,  but  m-a-r-s-k-ef  I 
know  a  Roger  Marske.  You  saw  him  with  Lady 
Muriel  and  me  this  afternoon." 

My  heart  gave  a  great  bound  at  the  suggestion, 
which  would  have  occurred  to  me  before  had  I  known 
the  Christian  and  surnames  Roger  and  Marske  in 
combination.  The  ingenious  idea  had  much  to  recom- 
mend it.  There  was  my  instinctive  dislike  of  the  man 
at  first  sight;  there  was  his  viciously-expressed  confi- 
dence in  my  guilt;  there  was  his  evident  desire  to 
check  and  thwart  Lady  Muriel's  interest  in  my  escape 
by  withholding  the  newspaper  from  her. 

Yet,  on  the  other  hand,  I  had  never  heard  of  him 
before  in  my  life— certainly  not  in  connection  with 
my  mother  and  sister,  nor  had  I  the  slightest  reason 
for  believing  that  they  were  acquainted  with  him. 
That  being  so,  what  earthly  object  could  he  have  had 
in  compassing  their  death — always  provided  that 
Clara's  incoherent  utterance  was  intended  to  indicate 
her  murderer? 

Clutching  at  straws,  however,  as  I  was,  I  could  not 
afford  to  throw  cold  water  on  any  clue— still  less 
on  one  that  had  in  it  so  many  elements  of  probability. 

"If  we  could  find  that  this  Roger  Marske  ever  had 
any  sort  of  association  with  my  people  I  should  know 


64  MILLIONS  OF  MISCHIEF 

that  you  had  read  the  riddle  aright,"  I  said.  "And 
then  all  would  depend  on  something  being  discovered 
in  the  nature  of  that  association  to  connect  him  with 
the  double  murder.  For  it  would  not  follow  that  he 
murdered  Clara  because  she  mentioned  him  with  her 
dying  breath." 

Janet's  fingers  quivered  so  that  she  shook  the  cur- 
tain which  she  was  holding  back  for  a  better  view  of 
the  road.  "Arthur,  this  Eoger  Marske  is  a  bad  man," 
she  panted  in  her  agitation.  "He  is  down  here  to 
pursue  Lady  Muriel  Crawshay  with  attentions  which 
she  loathes,  yet  has  to  tolerate  owing  to  her  father's 
foolish  infatuation  for  the  son  of  a  member  of  his 
Cabinet.  And  Mr.  Marske  thinks  it  consistent  with 
his  honor  to  annoy  me  with  his  equally  odious  but 
less  definite  attentions  at  the  same  time." 

"The  brute!"  I  muttered,  impressed  by  this  con- 
firmation of  Herzog's  insight. 

I  asked  Janet  how  she  came  to  know  such  big-wigs 
as  the  daughter  of  the  Prime  Minister  and  the  son 
of  the  Chancellor  of  the  Exchequer;  for  the  Chil- 
marks,  though  well  born,  had  not  been  in  the  habit 
of  mixing  in  such  exalted  circles.  But  it  was  all  very 
simple  when  it  came  to  be  told.  The  acquaintance 
was  one  which  would  never  have  been  struck  up  in 
London,  but  which  germinated  and  grew  quite  nat- 
urally in  a  small  seaside  resort  free  from  the  usual 
' '  attractions, ' '  and  priding  itself  on  its  exclusiveness. 
Lady  Muriel,  having  got  "run  down"  half  way 
through  the  London  season,  had  been  packed  off  to 
Ardmore,  and  the  influx  of  visitors  not  having  then  set 
in,  the  girls  had  met  in  their  walks  about  the  cliffs, 


JANET  READS  THE  RIDDLE  65 

had  fore-gathered,  and  finally  became  devoted  friends. 

"She  is  the  sweetest  soul,  and  so  sympathetic,  that 
she  soon  saw  that  I  was  in  trouble,"  added  Janet 
rather  diffidently.  "One  day,  when  we  were  sitting 
in  the  heather  at  the  back  of  Alum  Bay,  Arthur,  I 
broke  down  and  told  her  of  my  dreadful  grief.  She 
is  as  staunch  a  believer  in  your  innocence  as  I  am 
myself. ' ' 

And  this  was  the  daughter  of  the  man  whom  I  had 
been  released  to  kill, 

' '  Can  we  not  confide  everything  to  her,  and  beg  her 
to  enlist  her  father's  sympathy?"  I  clutched  at  an- 
other straw. 

But  Janet,  wiser  than  I  was,  pointed  out  the  danger 
of  such  a  course.  However  well  disposed  Lord 
Alphington  might  be,  he  would  be  powerless  to  save 
me  unless  my  innocence  had  been  clearly  established; 
though,  as  a  cold  and  haughty  statesman,  hidebound 
in  officialism,  he  would  probably  pooh-pooh  the  whole 
story  as  an  invention,  and  hand  me  over  to  the  hang- 
man. The  risk  was  too  great  to  be  run. 

"I  am  only  a  girl,  Arthur,  but  I  must  fight  your 
battle  alone,"  my  brave  sweetheart  went  on  firmly. 
"No  one  must  share  our  secret,  at  any  rate,  till  I 
have  achieved  partial  success.  Who  is  in  charge  of 
your  mother's  cottage  in  the  New  Forest?" 

"Sarah  Leven,  an  old  servant,  who  was  to  remain 
till— till  the  things  had  been  sold  by  auction,"  I 
answered. 

"What  would  be  her  feeling  about  you?" 

"She  was  devoted  to  all  of  us,  poor  soul— has  known 
me  from  a  boy,  but  like  most  other  people  she  probably 


66  MILLIONS  OF  MISCHIEF 

thinks  me  guilty,"  I  replied  with  unjustifiable  bitter- 
ness. 

"Let  us  hope  not,"  returned  Janet  gravely.  "In 
any  case  I  shall  run  over  by  the  first  boat  to-morrow 
and  explore  'The  Glen,'  is  it  not  called?  Ah,  stand 
perfectly  still!  Look  there!" 

With  the  warning  exclamation  her  voice  sank  so 
as  to  be  scarcely  audible,  and,  without  moving,  I 
followed  the  direction  of  her  frightened  gaze.  There, 
standing  in  the  middle  of  the  roadway,  the  moonlight 
shining  on  his  broad,  fleshy  face,  was  Herzog  staring 
straight  at  the  window.  In  our  preoccupation  of 
quick  question  and  answer  we  must  have  relaxed  our 
vigilance  long  enough  for  him  to  make  a  stealthy 
approach  on  his  return  to  the  house. 

Had  he  seen  us — or,  rather,  me?  For  there  would 
be  nothing  to  arouse  his  suspicions  in  a  sight  of  Janet 
alone.  At  any  rate  he  gave  no  sign,  but  stood  there 
motionless,  exercising  on  me  a  snakelike  fascination 
till,  with  a  visible  shrug  of  his  portly  shoulders,  he 
abandoned  his  position  and  came  swiftly  and  silently 
toward  the  garden  gate. 

"Get  back  to  your  room,"  Janet  implored  in  a 
whisper. 

I  needed  no  second  bidding,  but  at  the  door  I 
paused  for  one  breathless  second  to  ask: 

"How  shall  we  communicate  again?" 

"Go  at  once,"  she  urged.     "I  will  find  a  way." 

So  I  quickly  crossed  the  landing  and  had  scarcely 
closed  my  door  when  the  stairs  creaked  again.  A 
minute  later  I  heard  Herzog  moving  softly  about  in 
the  next  room. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

IN  THE  BRANKSOME  PINES 


was  nothing  in  Herzog's  demeanor  at 
J  breakfast  next  morning  to  show  any  diminu- 
fejUmgl  tion  of  his  confidence  in  me.  The  undertone 
|aeaaB|  Of  sarcasm  jn  which  he  sometimes  indulged 
at  my  expense  was  entirely  absent.  The  corporeal  side 
of  him  seemed  to  be  uppermost,  and  he  appeared  to  be 
in  the  lazily  sensuous  mood  natural  to  a  man  of  full 
habit  with  nothing  to  do  but  eat,  drink,  and  enjoy  him- 
self. I  could  not  think  that  he  had  seen  me  at  Janet's 
window  the  night  before. 

"The  joy  of  life,  my  dear  friend,  is  bubbling  all 
over  me  this  delightful  morning/'  he  remarked,  as 
he  sat  down  to  a  dish  of  bacon  and  eggs  and  helped 
himself  plentifully. 

To  some  extent  I  found  his  good-humor  infectious, 
for  before  breakfast  was  over  I  saw  Janet  trip  down 
the  garden  path  and  turn  toward  the  pier.  She  had 
evidently  not  swerved  from  her  intention  to  search 
for  clues  at  "The  Glen,"  and  was  on  her  way  to 
catch  the  first  boat  for  Lymington.  I  did  not  expect 
great  things  from  her  expedition,  but  a  forlorn  hope 
was  better  than  no  hope  at  all. 

"This  is  our  last  real  holiday,  for  the  Premier 
67 


68  MILLIONS  OF  MISCHIEF 

arrives  to-morrow,"  said  Herzog  presently,  as  he  lit 
a  cigar.  "I  propose  to  spend  it  in  testing  a  certain 
theory  that  is  causing  me  some  uneasiness.  There  is 
an  excursion  steamer,  due  to  call  here  at  eleven 
o'clock,  for  Bournemouth,  returning  in  the  afternoon. 
We  will  take  the  trip  in  her  to  that  gay  watering- 
place,  and  be  as  frivolous  as  we  can,  unless " 

"Unless  what?"  I  tried  to  abbreviate  his  some- 
what theatrical  pause. 

"Unless  there  is  stern  work  to  do,  my  friend,"  he 
concluded  quietly.  "But  that  will  only  happen  if 
my  very  doubtful  theory  proves  correct." 

It  was  all  one  to  me  how  we  spent  the  day.  It 
was  bound  to  be  one  of  suspense  anyhow,  till  Janet 
returned  from  the  New  Forest  and  found  a  way  of 
apprising  me  of  the  success  or  failure  of  her  journey. 
All  that  I  was  immediately  concerned  with  was  im- 
munity from  recapture,  and  for  that  I  was  relying 
entirely  on  Herzog.  With  his  interest  in  the  tragedy 
which  he  believed  himself  to  be  saving  me  for,  he  was 
not  likely  to  subject  me  to  undue  risks. 

And  when  the  London  papers  came  in,  just  before 
we  started,  I  learned  that  my  risk  was  already  greatly 
minimized— or,  at  least,  postponed.  A  Central  News 
telegram  from  Queenstown,  dated  the  night  before, 
was  given  prominence  under  the  sensational  double 
head-lines : 

THE  ESCAPED  MURDERER. 
OFF  TO  AMERICA. 

It  has  been  ascertained  by  the  police  that  Rivington  went  on 
board  the  Carpathia  here  just  before  she  sailed  this  evening. 
The  detectives  arrived  a  few  minutes  too  late  to  effect  his 


IN  THE  BRANKSOME  PINES  69 

arrest,  but  the  New  York  authorities  have  been  informed  by 
cable,  and  he  will  be  met  and  detained  on  the  arrival  of  the 
liner  on  the  other  side.  In  the  case  of  a  condemned  criminal 
it  is  not  thought  that  extradition  formalities  will  be  necessary. 

Herzog,  who  had  read  the  paragraph  before  hand- 
ing it  to  me,  chuckled  at  the  visible  astonishment 
with  which  I  perused  it. 

"How  was  it  worked?"  he  said  in  response  to  my 
mute  inquiry.  "You  are  scarcely  old  enough  to 
remember  the  refrain  of  a  song  popular  in  the  seven- 
ties, my  young  friend.  It  ran  something  like  this: 
'Bizzimark  here,  Bizzimark  there — Bizzimark,  Bizzi- 
mark  everywhere.'  Well,  if  you  substitute  Herzog 
for  Bismarck  you  have  it  in  a  nutshell.  I  have  my 
ramifications  and  resources  distributed  over  a  wide 
area,  you  see." 

"This  means,  then,  that  I  have  a  free  run  till  the 
Carpathia  reaches  New  York  and  the  report  is  found 
to  be  false— say  six  days,"  said  I. 

"Except  under  a  certain  contingency  which  we 
go  to  prove,  and  which  may  require  strenuous  treat- 
ment,"  replied  Herzog,  taking  up  his  soft  felt  hat. 
"Come,  we  will  show  ourselves  on  the  cliff- walk 
before  we  go  down  to  the  pier.  I  have  a  reason 
for  it." 

At  that  comparatively  early  hour  the  popular 
promenade  had  few  occupants  besides  nursemaids 
and  their  charges  making  their  way  to  the  beach. 
But  conspicuous  among  the  exceptions  was  Mr. 
Roger  Marske,  lounging  on  a  seat  and  apparently 
wrapped  in  moody  reflection.  He  affected  not  to 
see  us,  and  after  passing  him  two  or  three  times,  as 


70  MILLIONS  OF  MISCHIEF 

the  excursion  steamer  was  approaching,  we  descended 
to  the  pier.  I  wondered,  without  asking  to  be  en- 
lightened, whether  Marske  was  Herzog 's  "reason" 
for  that  preliminary  stroll. 

I  was  further  exercised  on  that  point  when,  just 
as  we  had  taken  our  seats  on  the  upper  deck  of  the 
steamer,  Marske  came  hurriedly  down  the  pier  and 
also  boarded  her.  He  disappeared  from  sight  among 
the  crowd  of  trippers  on  the  lower  deck,  and  as  he 
did  not  mount  to  the  upper  deck,  I  saw  no  more  of 
him  during  the  hour's  run.  Herzog  showed  no  sign 
of  having  seen  him  at  all,  and  as  the  last  thing  I 
wanted  was  to  disclose  my  interest  in  Marske  to  my 
lynx-eyed  companion,  I  kept  my  own  counsel. 

When  the  steamer  ran  alongside  the  pier  at  Bourne- 
mouth, Herzog  lost  no  time  in  landing,  and,  still 
wearing  the  air  of  a  schoolboy  out  for  a  holiday, 
proposed  refreshments  at  the  hotel  opposite  the  pier 
gates.  As  we  stood  at  the  bar  I  noticed  Roger 
Marske  studying  the  photographs  in  the  window  of 
the  library  opposite.  Herzog 's  eyes  were  on  my  face 
as  I  made  the  discovery,  and  he  must  have  followed 
my  gaze,  but  again  he  made  no  sign. 

"Now  for  a  tramp  and  a  whiff  of  the  pine  woods," 
he  said  when  he  had  finished  his  last  sandwich  and 
emptied  his  glass.  "You  are  scarcely  looking  as  fit 
as  a  man  ought  with — what  shall  we  call  it? — an 
ordeal  of  the  nerves  ahead.  A  little  physical  exercise 
will  do  you  good." 

As  we  left  the  hotel  I  saw  nothing  of  Marske,  who 
might,  or  might  not,  have  gone  into  the  library  to 
purchase  one  of  the  views  he  had  been  admiring.  We 


IN  THE  BRANKSOME  PINES  71 

climbed  on  to  the  West  Cliff,  and  so  struck  out  at 
a  brisk  pace  which,  after  a  two-mile  walk,  took  us 
out  of  the  residential  quarter  into  the  seclusion  of  the 
Branksome  Woods.  Herzog  was  in  his  most  dis- 
cursive vein,  telling  humorous  anecdotes  about  his 
former  experiences  as  a  Surveyor  of  Taxes — an  oc- 
cupation which  he  seemed  to  have  thoroughly  en- 
joyed. 

"Bleeding  'em,  my  friend— bleeding  'em  to  the 
white — was  good  fun,  I  can  tell  you,  and  so  was  fer- 
reting out  their  affairs  and  tripping  up  their 
evasions,"  he  wheezed.  "I  loved  it,  but  I  should 
have  loved  it  better  if  I  could  have  diverted  more 
of  the  plunder  into  my  own  pocket. ' ' 

Yet,  though  his  reminiscences  of  prying  into  the 
incomes  of  needy  old  maids  and  struggling  profes- 
sional men  were  vigorously  told,  I  was  conscious  all  the 
time  that  he  was  trying,  for  purposes  of  his  own,  to 
keep  me  amused  and  distracted  from  surroundings. 
We  were  sitting  on  a  fallen  pine  trunk  at  the  edge 
of  an  oily,  silent  pool,  when  he  suddenly  broke  off  in 
the  middle  of  one  of  his  narratives,  and  pointed  down 
the  glade  to  where  a  glimpse  of  the  sea  was  visible- 
turquoise  blue  behind  the  gloomy  foreground. 

"By  George,  my  friend,  but  this  spot  has  gripped 
me,"  he  said,  still  apparently  in  his  irresponsible 
mood.  "Wait  here  a  little  while  I  go  and  gloat  over 
that  blend  of  colors.  I  can  trust  you,"  here  he  laid 
his  big  forefinger  alongside  his  bulbous  nose,  "not 
to  run  away." 

He  left  me  and  sauntered  down  the  glade,  standing 
for  a  moment  at  the  end  of  the  vista,  and  then,  some- 


72  MILLIONS  OF  MISCHIEF 

what  to  my  surprise,  disappearing  among  the  trees 
to  the  right.  I  sat  still,  and  for  over  a  minute  had 
been  listlessly  wondering  how  Janet  was  faring  at 
my  mother's  cottage,  when  a  hand  fell  on  my  shoulder 
from  behind. 

Shaking  myself  free,  I  glanced  quickly  up  and  met 
the  mocking  gaze  of  Koger  Marske. 

"Ah!"  he  exclaimed,  and  there  was  a  note  of 
triumph  in  the  harsh  tones  of  his  voice.  "Ah,  I 
thought  so." 

"What  did  you  think,  and  what  do  you  mean  by 
laying  your  hand  on  me?"  I  asked  angrily,  forget- 
ting in  my  indignation  that,  in  the  eyes  of  the  law, 
I  had  forfeited  all  right  to  resent  anything,  or  even  to 
speak  as  man  to  man. 

I  was  to  be  quickly  reminded,  however.  Marske 
broke  into  an  unpleasant  cackling  laugh.  ' '  The  same 
answer  fits  both  your  questions,"  he  sneered.  "I 
laid  hands  on  you  because  I  thought  that  you  were 
disguised,  and  I  wanted  to  have  a  look  at  you  at 
close  quarters.  I  perceive  that  I  was  right  in  my 
conjecture,  and  I  have  little  doubt  that  I  am  right  in 
another  which  I  will  venture  to  put  forward." 

"And  that  is?"  I  faltered.  It  is  a  degrading  con- 
fession, but  it  had  come  to  this,  that  I  was  actually 
longing  for  Herzog's  presence. 

"  It  is  that  you  are  Arthur  Rivington— the  escaped 
convict  from  Winchester,"  Roger  Marske  replied  in 
sharp,  staccato  accents.  And  as  he  spoke  he  drew 
a  little  away  from  me  and  leveled  a  pistol  at  my 
head. 


s 


CHAPTER  IX 

HERZOG'S  CLAWS 

TKANGE  to  say,  with  that  shining  tube 
pointed  at  me  I  thought  less  of  my  obviously 
imminent  peril  than  of  the  inference  I  drew 
from  Koger  Marske's  apparent  intention  to 
shoot  me.  It  would  be  the  natural  course  for  him  to 
take  if  he  were  indeed  guilty  of  the  crime  for  which  I 
had  been  condemned.  Utterly  unsuspected  of  it  as  he 
was,  he  would  be  able  to  say  that  he  had  met  the 
escaped  convict  in  a  lonely  place,  and,  being  attacked 
by  him,  had  shot  him  in  self-defense.  So  with  the 
greatest  plausibility  would  he  rid  himself  once  for  all 
of  the  danger  which,  presuming  his  guilt,  he  would 
know  to  be  threatening  him  so  long  as  I  was  at  large, 
and  probably  using  my  liberty  to  clear  my  character  at 
the  expense  of  the  real  murderer. 

It  flashed  through  my  mind  that  I  must  be  the  vic- 
tim of  some  utterly  inexplicable  plot,  at  which  Herzog 
had  connived,  and  that  the  Alphington  conspiracy 
was  all  moonshine,  designed  to  draw  me  into  the  focus 
of  Marske's  revolver.  Though  why  so  much  trouble 
should  have  been  taken  to  confront  me  with  that 

73 


74  MILLIONS  OF  MISCHIEF 

weapon  when  Mr.  Billington  was  to  have  hanged  me 
on  the  morrow,  I  was  at  a  loss  to  conjecture. 

Suddenly,  without  relaxing  his  aim,  Marske  spoke. 

"Why  did  you  select  ' Springthorpe, '  at  Totland, 
to  stay  at?"  he  asked. 

I  remembered  that  in  words,  at  any  rate,  I  had 
not  admitted  my  identity,  so  I  rode  the  high  horse. 
"What  the  devil  has  that  to  do  with  you?"  I  tried 
to  bluster,  making  a  signal  failure  of  it,  I  fear. 

Marske  scowled  savagely  at  me.  "My  pretty  fel- 
low, ' '  he  snarled,  ' '  I  can  answer  the  question  for  you, 
being  equal  to  the  simple  addition  sum  of  putting 
two  and  two  together.  You  know  Janet  Chilmark, 
eh  ?  She  went  off  unexpectedly  this  morning  on  your 
business,  eh?" 

I  made  no  reply,  but  my  face  must  have  told  the 
tale,  for  I  saw  him  steady  his  revolver  to  a  surer  aim, 
and  I  had  given  myself  up  for  lost,  when  a  well- 
known  voice  close  by  rang  in  my  ears: 

"Lower  your  pistol,  Mr.  Marske,  and  drop  it  on  the 
ground,  or  take  the  consequences.  I  have  got  you 
covered,  you  see." 

Yes,  the  pistol  wavered,  and  finally  drooped  from 
the  level  of  my  head,  but  the  command  was  not  wholly 
obeyed  at  once.  Marske  still  clutched  the  weapon, 
holding  it  muzzle  downward,  and  glared  unutterable 
things. 

"Come,  sir.  I  am  not  to  be  trifled  with.  I  give 
you  ten  seconds  to  disarm  yourself,  or  I  will  shoot 
you  dead,"  came  Herzog's  smooth  but  peremptory 
threatt 

This  time  the  injunction  was  obeyed.     Dropping 


HERZOG 'S  CLAWS  75 

the  pistol  on  the  carpet  of  pine  needles,  Marske  broke 
into  a  tirade  of  abuse  and  self-justification: 

"The  man  is  the  escaped  murderer — a  fact  of  which 
you  must  have  full  cognizance,"  he  exclaimed  furi- 
ously. "I  suppose  you  are  prepared  to  pay  the  pen- 
alty for  aiding  and  abetting  him,  and  for  preventing 
an  honest  citizen  from  recapturing  him." 

Relieved  from  the  menace  of  Marske 's  weapon,  I 
turned  my  head  and  saw  Herzog,  revolver  in  hand, 
advancing  toward  him  from  the  trees  at  my  right. 
My  custodian 's  broad  features  were  graver  than  I  had 
seen  them  since  the  memorable  interview  when  he 
had  impressed  his  personality  on  me  at  the  "Pilot's 
Rest"  at  Southampton. 

"What  is  this  nonsense  about  an  escaped  mur- 
derer?" he  asked  quietly. 

"The  fellow  is  the  notorious  Rivington.  I  taxed 
him  with  it  and  he  did  not  deny  it, ' '  returned  Marske 
sullenly. 

"Then  I  must  deny  it  for  him;  and,  further,  as 
you  bring  a  very  serious  charge  against  myself  I  shall 
convince  you  that  it  is  false,"  Herzog  said,  picking 
up  the  dropped  pistol  and  putting  it  in  his  pocket. 

' '  If  you  will  take  a  few  steps  with  me  in  this  direc- 
tion I  have  no  doubt  that  I  shall  be  able  to  disabuse 
your  mind  of  the  error  which  has  so  nearly  got  you 
into  trouble." 

I  saw  Roger  Marske  gnaw  his  mustache  in  impo- 
tent rage,  but  there  was  something  in  Herzog 's  suave 
urbanity  that  was  not  to  be  denied,  and  the  two  moved 
off  together  down  the  glade.  So  long  as  they  were 
within  earshot  of  me  nothing  was  said  between  them, 


76  MILLIONS  OF  MISCHIEF 

though  Herzog  busied  himself  with  producing  and 
unfolding  a  small  document,  which  he  seemed  to 
peruse  attentively.  When  they  were  some  fifty  yards 
away  he  began  to  talk  in  low  tones,  and  at  last  he 
showed  Marske  the  paper,  without  relaxing  his  grasp 
on  it.  Marske  read  it  and  then  flung  up  his  arms  in 
a  gesture  that  seemed  to  denote  a  combination  of  dis- 
gust and  surrender.  Then  they  turned  and  slowly 
retraced  their  steps  to  where  I  had  resumed  my  seat 
on  the  pine  trunk. 

"My  dear  Martin,"  said  Herzog  as  they  ap- 
proached, "the  little  misunderstanding  is  at  an  end. 
Mr.  Marske  recognizes  his  mistake  and  apologizes  to 
both  of  us  for  making  it.  We  must  make  allowances 
for  an  honest  citizen— that  I  think  was  the  phrase— 
desirious  of  doing  his  duty  by  the  community.  Trop 
de  zele  has  led  many  people  into  equally  untenable 
positions." 

That  Marske  was  really  convinced  it  was  impossible 
to  believe.  The  muttered  apology,  in  which  the  only 
audible  words  were  the  important  ones  "Doctor  Bar- 
rabies"  and  "Mr.  Martin,"  was  accompanied  by  the 
fierce  grin  of  a  man  beaten  at  a  game  in  which  he  had 
believed  himself  a  winner.  Then,  slightly  raising  his 
hat,  he  turned  on  his  heel  and  vanished  among  the 
pines. 

Herzog  seated  himself  on  the  trunk  at  my  side, 
and  inflated  his  broad  chest  with  a  long  breath  of  the 
aromatic  air. 

"So  much,"  he  said,  "for  the  theory  that  I  had 
conceived.  It  was  unfortunately  correct,  but  I  have 
been  able  to  combat  it  with  weapons  which  our  enter- 


HERZOG 'S  CLAWS  77 

prising  friend  could  not  suspect  me  of  holding.  Let 
me  congratulate  you,  my  noble  captain,  on  a  very 
soldierly  attitude  in  front  of  a  leveled  weapon,  which, 
by  the  way,  I  must  not  forget  to  return  to  that  ag- 
gressive gentleman  at  the  first  opportunity." 

I  could  not  tell  him  that  if  my  theory,  or  rather 
Janet's,  about  Roger  Marske  were  correct,  there  would 
never  be  a  safe  opportunity  for  returning  him  his 
pistol,  so  far  as  I  was  concerned.  That  he  had  meant 
to  kill  me  in  cold  blood  I  had  no  doubt,  and, I  won- 
dered that  my  astute  companion  made  no  reference 
to  his  obvious  intention.  He  could  hardly  have  failed 
to  observe  it,  even  if  he  had  not  overheard  the  con- 
versation that  preceded  his  dramatic  interference. 

That  point  caused  me  a  good  deal  of  uneasiness. 
If  Herzog  had  heard  Roger  Marske  taxing  me  with 
an  acquaintance  with  Janet  my  chances  of  future 
communication  with  her  would  be  reduced  to  a  mini- 
mum. And,  apart  from  his  having  overheard  any- 
thing, what  connecting  link  could  there  have  been  in 
Herzog 's  mind  between  Marske  and  myself?  That 
he  had  deliberately  brought  me  into  the  Branksome 
pine  woods,  and  there  left  me  alone,  knowing  that 
Marske  was  following,  I  could  not  doubt.  I  had  his 
own  word  for  it  that  our  expedition  was  intended  to 
test  a  theory. 

That  theory  unquestionably  was  that  Marske  sus- 
pected my  identity,  but  how  had  Herzog  detected  the 
suspicion  ?  By  observing  it,  or  by  having  ascertained 
that  there  was  a  reason  why  Marske  should  fear  mef 

Whichever  was  the  true  source  of  his  action,  it  be- 


78  MILLIONS  OF  MISCHIEF 

came  at  once  apparent  that  Herzog  meant  me  to 
attribute  it  to  the  former. 

"That  unpleasant  person  must  have  spotted  your 
disguise,  and  to  avoid  a  repetition  of  such  discoveries 
you  had  better  discard  those  whiskers, ' '  he  said,  deftly 
detaching  them.  "Thanks  to  the  newspaper  reports 
of  your  flight  to  America  you  will  not  be  searched 
for  at  present,  and  the  absence  of  your  mustache 
really  makes  all  the  necessary  alteration." 

"Unless  I  meet  some  one  with  whom  I  was 
acquainted,"  said  I. 

Herzog 's  eyes  took  on  their  harder  expression. 
"Are  you  quite  sure  that  you  have  not  done  so 
already?"  he  jerked  out  sharply. 

I  was  sore  troubled  lest  he  alluded  to  my  meeting 
with  Janet  the  previous  night.  But  no;  as  I  re- 
mained silent  he  relieved  my  anxiety  by  thus  explain- 
ing the  question — 

"You  knew  this  fellow  Marske  before  your  convic- 
tion, eh?" 

' '  Not  at  all.  I  never  set  eyes  on  him— never  heard 
of  him— till  yesterday,"  I  was  able  to  answer  truth- 
fully. 

Herzog  relapsed  into  silence,  gazing  alternately  at 
the  distant  peep  of  the  sea  and  at  the  black  tarn  at 
our  feet.  Suddenly  he  picked  up  a  stone  and  tossed 
it  into  the  pool,  frowning  as  he  watched  the  circles 
widening  from  the  central  splash. 

"Deep  waters,"  I  heard  him  mutter  ruminatively. 
Then,  jumping  up,  he  changed  his  manner  to  frank 
friendliness  again. 

"Come,  my  noble  captain,"  he  said.     "I  am  a 


HERZOG'S  CLAWS  79 

selfish  creature  to  keep  you  on  a  spot  that  must  have 
such  disagreeable  associations.  Besides,  we  shall 
have  to  hurry  if  we  are  to  be  in  time  to  join  our  fel- 
low-trippers on  the  boat  back  to  the  Wight." 


CHAPTER  X 

WHAT  JANET   DISCOVERED 

|E  caught  the  excursion  steamer  at  Bourne- 
mouth, and  made  the  return  journey  with- 
out further  incident  or  seeing  anything  of 
Roger  Marske.  As  a  result  of  the  afternoon 's 
adventure,  he  had  either  decided  to  get  back  to  Tot- 
land  by  the  Lymington  route  rather  than  travel  with 
us,  or  he  had  altered  his  plans  entirely — possibly  to 
the  extent  of  taking  train  for  London. 

Colonel  Chilmark  was  in  his  accustomed  place  in 
his  window  at  ' '  Springthorpe "  as  we  entered  the 
garden  gate,  and  the  scrutiny  which  he  bent  on  us 
from  under  his  shaggy  brows  was  an  unexpected 
ordeal.  He  had  not  entered  into  my  calculations 
when  I  had  consented  to  the  removal  of  the  false 
whiskers,  and  now  I  stood  before  him  in  my  old 
semblance,  save  for  the  lack  of  my  mustache.  His 
critical  stare  gave  me  a  bad  twenty  seconds  as  we 
walked  up  the  path,  but  before  we  reached  the  door 
he  had  carelessly  resumed  his  everlasting  newspaper. 
The  two  occasions  on  which  I  had  met  him  had 
evidently  not  stamped  me  on  his  memory  to  the  ex- 

80 


WHAT  JANET  DISCOVERED  81 

tent  of  recognition  in  my  altered  guise.  Fortunately, 
like  all  valetudinarians,  the  Colonel  was  self -centered, 
and  moreover,  thanks  to  my  engagement  to  Janet  hav- 
ing been  kept  secret,  he  had  no  particular  interest 
in  me— except,  of  course,  as  a  notorious  malefactor 
with  whom  he  would  not  be  likely  to  go  out  of  his  way 
to  claim  acquaintance. 

We  had  hardly  entered  our  sitting-room  when  Mrs. 
Krance  appeared.  She  gave  me  a  queer  birdlike 
glance,  which  Herzog  seemed  to  think  demanded  the 
explanation  that  I  had  been  clean-shaved  because  of 
the  heat.  She  sniffed,  without  comment. 

''I  have  got  a  message  for  you  gentlemen  from  the 
young  lady,"  she  said. 

"From  Miss  Chilmark?"  Herzog  purred  softly. 

The  landlady  nodded,  and  continued:  "Leastways 
she  didn't  send  it  as  a  message  direct,  but  she  told 
me  she  hoped  you  wouldn't  make  a  noise,  shutting 
your  doors  or  anything.  She's  been  over  to  the  New 
Forest  to-day,  and  went  to  bed  with  a  bad  headache 
directly  she  got  back." 

"Oh,  we  are  very  quiet  folk  and  shall  not  disturb 
the  lady,"  replied  Herzog  with  a  genuine  carelessness 
that  reassured  me.  He  evidently  did  not  suspect 
what  I  guessed — that  the  "message"  was  a  real  one 
with  a  hidden  meaning  in  it  intended  for  me  alone. 
My  dear  girl,  I  felt  sure,  had  taken  this  means  of 
conveying  to  me  that  she  had  fulfilled  her  self-set 
task  and  had  returned— a  fact  about  which  I  should 
have  been  anxious  if  not  informed.  I  could  not  be 
certain  as  to  her  motive  in  keeping  to  her  room,  but 
I  did  not  believe  in  the  "headache."  I  had  never 


82  MILLIONS  OF  MISCHIEF 

known  her  suffer  that  way,  and  it  was  more  likely 
that  it  was  part  of  some  plan  for  communicating 
with  me. 

Some  five  hours  later,  when,  after  another  strained 
evening,  spent  for  the  sake  of  appearance  in  the 
hotel  billiard-room,  Herzog  and  I  retired  to  our 
respective  bedrooms,  I  proved  the  truth  of  the  sur- 
mise. I  had  not  begun  to  undress,  and  was  listening 
to  Herzog  moving  about  in  the  next  room,  when  a 
folded  sheet  of  foolscap  was  gently  slid  under  my 
door.  Needless  to  say  how  I  pounced  upon  the 
missive,  and  yet  how  carefully  I  handled  it  lest  the 
crackling  of  the  paper  should  reach  the  ears  of  my 
sleepless  neighbor. 

"I  had  to  deceive  father  with  a  fictitious  ailment 
in  order  to  be  by  myself  to  write  this,"  the  document 
began  abruptly  in  Janet's  well-known  hand.  "I  had 
better  say  at  once,  to  prevent  raising  unfounded 
hopes,  that  I  have  discovered  nothing  to  corroborate 
my  suggested  reading  of  your  sister's  last  words.  I 
have  not  heard  the  name  of  Marske  all  day.  At  the 
same  time  I  did  discover  something  which,  I  think, 
calls  for  further  investigation. 

"On  presenting  myself  at  'The  Glen,'  I  failed  for 
some  time  to  make  any  impression  on  the  discreet 
elderly  female  who  answered  my  ring.  Sarah  Leven 
is  a  woman  of  rare  discrimination.  I  am  very  sure  she 
is  a  treasure  not  often  found  nowadays  in  domestic 
service.  She  struck  me  as  being  in  a  very  highly- 
strung  condition— probably,  though  I  did  not  at  first 
refer  to  it,  on  account  of  your  escape,  of  which  she 
had  doubtless  heard.  I  rather  think  that  she  took  me 


WHAT  JANET  DISCOVERED  83 

for  a  police  agent  endeavoring  to  ascertain  if  you  had 
sought  refuge  there. 

"I  began  by  describing  myself  as  a  stranger  con- 
vinced of  your  innocence  and  desirous  of  seeing  the 
house  where  such  a  miscarriage  of  justice  had  origi- 
nated. But  Sarah  Leven,  standing  in  the  doorway, 
with  her  iron-grey  locks  framing  her  stern  face,  was 
not  going  to  pander  to  idle  curiosity.  She  com- 
menced to  shut  the  door  upon  me  slowly. 

"  'This  house  of  death  and  sorrow  is  no  place  for 
sightseers/  she  said,  continuing  to  close  the  door  till 
it  touched  the  foot  which  I  had  thrust  over  the 
threshold.  Still  she  did  not  desist,  but  pushed  the 
door  till  my  poor  foot  was  squeezed  almost  to  a  jelly. 
I  would  not  give  way,  and  at  last  she  cried  angrily: 

"  'If  you  do  not  go  I  will  send  the  first  passer-by 
for  a  policeman.' 

"  'And  rob  Captain  Rivington  of  his  last  chance 
of  saving  his  honor  and  his  life,'  I  answered,  swiftly 
deciding  that  the  only  way  to  gain  this  faithful  crea- 
ture's confidence  was  to  give  her  some  of  my  own. 
And  in  pursuance  of  this  idea  I  told  her  that  I  was 
your  promised  wife,  and  that  I  was  set  upon  using 
the  reprieve  you  had  gained  to  find  a  clue  to  the 
wretch  who  should  stand  in  your  place.  In  fact,  I 
told  her  everything— except  that  I  had  seen  you  and 
knew  where  you  were.  I  even  asked  her  if  she  knew 
the  name  of  Marske  in  connection  with  your  sister. 
She  made  no  immediate  reply,  but  I  was  gratified 
with  the  instant  success  of  the  course  I  had  adopted. 
She  opened  the  door  and  admitted  me. 

"Sarah  Leven   ia    evidently  not   a  woman  to  do 


84  MILLIONS  OF  MISCHIEF 

things  by  halves.  Having  made  up  her  mind  that  I 
was  to  be  trusted,  she  was  ready  to  trust  me  alto- 
gether. Leading  the  way  into  the  dismantled  draw- 
ing-room, she  turned  to  me  with  all  the  grimness  gone 
from  her  motherly  face,  and  made  amends  in  the 
quaintest  old-fashioned  way  for  her  previous  rude- 
ness. I  told  her  that  I  liked  her  the  better  for  being 
rude  to  me  before  she  was  sure,  and  that  clinched  the 
matter.  Sarah  and  I  are  sworn  allies. 

"She  now  answered  in  the  negative  the  question  I 
had  put  to  her  about  the  name  of  Marske.  No  such 
person  had  ever  been  at  'The  Glen,'  and  she  had 
never  heard  the  name.  Indeed,  from  what  she  says, 
your  mother  and  sister  must  have  led  a  most  retiring 
life,  seeing  no  one  but  the  clergyman  and  a  few  neigh- 
bors, and  never  having  visitors  staying  in  the  house 
— unless  you  yourself  could  be  so  considered. 

"But  you  will  be  eager  to  learn  the  point  which, 
rightly  or  wrongly,  I  regard  as  a  discovery.  It  was 
this.  Asked  if  your  sister  had  a  large  postal  corre- 
spondence, Sarah  looked  sharply  at  me,  hesitated, 
and  finally  admitted  such  was  the  case. 

"  'Ever  since  she  went  to  stay  in  London  for  six 
months  three  years  ago  for  the  art  classes,  Miss  Clara 
has  written  a  lot  of  letters— received  a  good  many, 
too,  though  not  so  many  as  she  wrote,'  Sarah  Leven 
replied,  and  hesitated  again,  as  if  there  was  more 
behind. 

"  'Come!'  I  persisted.  'I  can  see  that  Miss  Riv- 
ington  not  only  had  many  letters  and  wrote  many, 
but  that  you  know  the  name  of  her  correspondent. 
Remember  that  whatever  duty  of  silence  and  secrecy 


WHAT  JANET  DISCOVERED  85 

you  owed  to  her  is  cancelled  by  what  you  owe  to  her 
brother  now.  What  you  know  may  save  him  from  a 
disgraceful  death.' 

"  'It  isn't  much  that  I  know,  but  I  will  tell  it  to 
you,'  Sarah  yielded  after  a  pause.  'Miss  Clara  usu- 
ally met  the  postman  and  got  the  letters  from  him, 
and  she  went  to  the  post  herself  with  those  she  wrote. 
But  once,  about  a  year  ago,  she  had  the  influenza 
badly  and  could  not  leave  the  house.  She  asked  me 
to  post  her  letters  for  her  and  to  say  nothing  about 
them  to  Mrs.  Rivington.  I  didn't  like  it,  having  been 
with  the  mistress  since  a  girl,  but  then,  again,  I  loved 
Miss  Clara  as  if  she  had  been  my  own.  I  consented 
to  post  the  letters,  and  I  couldn't  help  seeing  that 
they  were  to  a  gentleman.' 

' '  '  His  name  and  address  ? '  I  asked,  trying  to  con- 
ceal the  importance  I  attached  to  the  question. 

"  'Danvers  Crane,  care  of  Mrs.  Webley,  450  High 
Street,  Netting  Hill,'  Sarah  replied,  snapping  her 
jaws  as  though  she  said  it  under  compulsion,  and,  I 
hope,  salving  her  dear  honest  conscience  thereby. 
That  woman  is  sterling  gold,  Arthur,  and  if  ever 
these  clouds  break  we  must  not  forget  her. 

"Well,  that  is  the  sum  total  of  my  discovery,  end 
now  for  my  plans.  I  shall  tell  my  father  in  the 
morning  that  I  must  go  to  London  for  two  days— 
possibly  three.  Luckily  I  have  an  excuse  in  having 
to  view  a  house  which  he  thinks  of  taking  near  Har- 
row. But  the  house  will  not  claim  much  of  my  time, 
which  shall  be  devoted,  to  the  last  minute  if  neces- 
sary, to  learning  all  there  is  to  learn  about  Mr. 
Danvers  Crane.  I  hope  to  get  away  by  mid-day  to- 


86  MILLIONS  OF  MISCHIEF 

morrow,  and  half-an-hour  after  I  arrive  in  town  I 
shall  be  making  inquiries  of  Mrs.  Webley  at  Notting 
Hill. 

"I  hate  having  to  leave  you,  my  own  dearest, 
especially  as  you  will  be  in  the  society  of  that  hateful 
Herzog,  and  he  may  begin  to  urge  on  the  unspeakable 
deed  before  I  return.  But  I  have  no  other  clue  to 
follow,  and  I  am  impelled  by  some  undefined  force  to 
drag  aside  the  veil  from  the  man  who  had  a  part  in 
your  sister's  life  without  the  knowledge  of  her 
friends.  Hope  on,  Arthur  darling,  as  I  shall,  while 
there  is  room  for  hoping,  but  if  you  are  driven  into 
a  corner  during  my  absence  you  might,  as  the  very 
last  resort,  tell  your  story  to  Lady  Muriel— provided 
you  can  see  her  alone.  But  only  if  threatened  with 
detection  and  recapture,  for  Muriel  is  devoted  to  her 
father,  and  might  feel  it  her  duty  to  warn  him  that 
there  is  a  plot  against  his  life." 

So  ended  the  missive,  wrhich  by  its  clear  brave 
words  told  me  at  least  that  I  should  be  craven  to 
despair  while  their  staunch  writer  bade  me  hope.  It 
was  indeed  news  to  me  that  my  sister  Clara,  the  de- 
mure and  self-contained,  had  carried  on  a  clandestine 
correspondence  with  a  mysterious  "Danvers  Crane." 


CHAPTER  XI 

ENTER  LORD  ALPHINGTON 

N  the  following  day,  from  my  first  meeting 
with  him,  I  noticed  a  slight  change  in  Her- 
zog's  demeanor.  It  was  not  that  he  relaxed 
his  outward  courtesy  towards  me,  or  showed 
any  slackening  of  confidence,  but  that  he  was  silent 
and  preoccupied.  He  evinced  no  disposition  to  leave 
the  house  till  after  he  had  received  a  telegram,  which 
he  put  carefully  away  in  his  pocket-book  after  perus- 
ing it  twice.  From  the  time  he  took  over  it  I  guessed 
that  it  was  in  cipher. 

It  was  then  eleven  o'clock,  and  I  had  seen  nothing 
of  Janet,  though  once  or  twice  when  the  door  was 
opened  I  had  heard  her  voice  in  the  opposite  sitting- 
room  as  she  talked  with  her  father.  The  mid-day 
boat,  by  which  she  presumably  meant  to  start  for 
Lymington,  en  route  for  London,  would  be  at  the  pier 
at  a  quarter  to  one,  and  it  was  therefore  with  a  thrill 
of  anticipation  that  I  heard  Herzog  unfold  his  pro- 
gramme for  the  day. 

"My  friend,"  he  said,  "in  comparison  with  yester- 
day to-day  should  be  a  day  of  small  things.  We  will 
laze  about  the  green  walk,  haunt  the  pier,  and  watch 

87 


88  MILLIONS  OF  MISCHIEF 

the  steamboats,  and"— this  with  a  clenching  of  the 
thin  lips  that  were  in  such  strange  contrast  to  his 
fleshy  countenance— "  prepare  the  outline  of  our  cam- 
paign. Your  quarry  arrives  to-day.  Any  moment  I 
may  unleash  you." 

"By  what  boat  is  Lord  Alphington  expected?"  I 
asked. 

"By  the  one  reaching  here  at  noon — the  same  that 
brought  us,"  was  the  reply. 

It  would  be  the  boat  which  on  its  return  journey 
would  take  Janet  on  the  first  stage  of  her  quest  for 
Danvers  Crane.  A  sentimental  longing  to  see  her  off 
seized  me,  and  to  that  end  I  hazarded  the  dissimu- 
lating suggestion: 

"I  have  never  seen  the  Prime  Minister.  I  might 
recognize  him  from  his  pictures  or  I  might  not,  and 
it  would  be  well  to  make  sure  of  him  in  the  flesh  as 
soon  as  possible.  I  want  to  get  my  job  over  and  be 
off,  for  this  suspense  is  killing  me.  Let  us  go  down 
and  meet  the  boat." 

"A  good  notion.  I  can  understand  your  eager- 
ness," said  Herzog  drily. 

So  it  was  that  when  the  steamer  rounded  the  point 
at  Cliff  End  we  were  on  the  pier  to  watch  her  ap- 
proach. While  she  was  still  a  long  way  off  Herzog 
nudged  my  elbow  and  drew  my  attention  to  a  tall 
figure  in  a  light  grey  suit  standing  by  the  wheel, 
talking  to  the  captain. 

' '  That  is  Lord  Alphington, ' '  he  said,  far  too  clever 
to  drop  his  voice  amid  a  crowd  where  a  whisper  would 
have  been  more  noticeable  than  his  perfectly  natural 
indication  of  such  a  celebrity. 


ENTER  LORD  ALPHINGTON  89 

"Yes,  that  is  Lord  Alphington,  and  you  can  pre- 
pare to  face  what  the  newspapers  call  his  eagle  gaze, 
for  in  five  minutes  I  shall  introduce  my  rescuer  to 
him,"  said  a  merry  voice  behind  us.  And,  turning, 
we  had  to  make  our  bows  to  Lady  Muriel,  who,  with 
Roger  Marske  in  attendance,  had  come  to  meet  her 
father. 

It  was  Herzog  who  constituted  himself  spokesman, 
and  as  he  was  a  man  who  weighed  every  word,  he 
puzzled  me  by  his  answer. 

"If  you  will  allow  me  the  privilege  of  a  responsible 
medical  man,  Lady  Muriel,"  he  said,  "I  should  pre- 
fer to  have  that  introduction  postponed  a  little.  My 
patient,  Mr.  Martin,  is  not  feeling  quite  the  thing 
this  morning,  and  the  excitement  of  such  an  honor 
might  be  too  much  for  him." 

As  the  soi-disant  Doctor  Barrables  enunciated  this 
fiction  I  caught  Marske 's  eyes  bent  on  me  in  a  malig- 
nant gaze,  in  which,  however,  I  thought  I  detected  a 
trace  of  fear.  But  Lady  Muriel's  sympathetic  con- 
cern for  my  health  caused  me  to  turn  to  her  and  mur- 
mur a  few  words  of  thanks  while  Herzog  gently 
plucked  at  my  sleeve  and  led  me  away. 

"We  must  steer  clear  of  them  while  that  fellow  is 
about,"  he  whispered.  "I  thought  I  had  drawn  his 
sting  yesterday,  but  mischief  is  writ  large  all  over 
him.  I  confess  myself  puzzled." 

If  my  neck  had  not  been  in  jeopardy  I  really  think 
that  at  this  point  I  should  have  begun  to  enjoy  the 
game.  That  my  cunning  bear-leader  should  be  puz- 
zled by  anything  that  to  my  duller  wits  seemed  fairly 
patent  was  amusing,  and  under  happier  circum- 


90  MILLIONS  OF  MISCHIEF 

stances  I  could  have  laughed  aloud  at  his  mystifica- 
tion. For  Herzog,  I  thought,  attributed  Marske's 
uneasiness  to  a  desire  to  thwart  the  Alphington  plot, 
whereas  I  had  good  reason  to  believe  that  Marske's 
hostility  was  due  to  a  very  present  sense  of  danger  to 
himself. 

With  much  churning  of  her  paddle-wheels  the 
steamer  sidled  up  to  the  pier,  and  as  soon  as  she  was 
made  fast,  Lord  Alphington  stepped  across  the  gang- 
way. His  advent  had  been  noised  abroad,  and  quite 
a  little  crowd  of  butterfly  idlers  had  come  down  to 
witness  his  arrival,  forming  a  semi-circle,  into  which 
Lady  Muriel  impulsively  pushed  her  way  to  greet 
her  father.  When  the  Premier  bent  his  imposing 
figure  to  kiss  his  daughter,  some  one  raised  a  cheer, 
which  was  taken  up  with  well-bred  moderation  as  the 
distinguished  party  moved  off. 

I  was  watching  them  as  they  walked  up  the  pier, 
Lady  Muriel  hanging  on  to  her  father's  arm,  and 
Roger  Marske,  whom  Lord  Alphington  had  warmly 
shaken  by  the  hand,  following  a  few  paces  behind, 
when  I  saw  Janet  pass  the  toll-gate  and  come  quickly 
towards  them.  She  was  carrying  a  small  handbag, 
and  was  evidently  in  haste  to  catch  the  steamer,  for 
she  merely  waved  her  hand  to  Lady  Muriel  and 
bowed  to  Lord  Alphington  as  she  passed.  Her  way 
to  the  gangway  brought  her  quite  close  to  where 
Herzog  and  I  were  lounging,  but  she  affected  not  to 
see  us,  and  vanished  on  to  the  boat. 

"It  seems  that  we  are  to  lose  our  charming  fellow- 
lodger,"  said  Herzog,  removing  his  cigar  to  stare 
after  her.  That  inscrutable  stare  of  his.  How  I 


ENTER  LORD  ALPHINGTON  91 

wished  that  I  could  read  that  stony  mask  and  learn 
whether  there  was  more  in  his  mildly  interested  tone 
than  met  the  ear. 

"I  suppose  they  have  changed  their  minds  again, 
and  Mrs.  Krance  will  be  tearing  her  hair,"  said  I, 
growing,  I  nattered  myself,  an  adept  in  subtlety. 
"Colonel  Chilmark  is  probably  looking  after  the  lug- 
gage and  will  be  along  directly." 

"No,"  replied  Herzog  shortly,  and  I  fancied  that 
there  was  a  curious  undertone  in  his  voice.  "The 
Colonel  stays  behind." 

I  was  wondering  what  this  meant— what  sources  of 
information  he  had  tapped — when  my  attention  was 
distracted  by  the  sight  of  Roger  Marske  returning 
alone  along  the  pier.  The  arrival  of  Janet  had  caused 
me  to  transfer  my  gaze  to  her  from  the  Alphington 
party,  and  the  Earl  and  his  daughter  had  now  disap- 
peared through  the  barrier — presumably  to  walk  up 
to  "Ardmore."  Why  was  Marske  coming  back,  with 
scowling  face  and  determined  tread? 

The  question  troubled  Herzog,  too,  I  was  sure.  It 
was  denied  to  a  man  of  his  plethoric  build  to  repress 
one  outward  and  audible  sign  of  agitation,  and  the 
deep  breath  he  drew  told  me  that  he  was  interested, 
if  not  annoyed.  We  neither  of  us  had  long  to  wait 
for  an  answer,  and  the  ugly  significance  of  it  pierced 
me  like  a  poisoned  arrow. 

Keeping  his  eyes  averted,  Marske  crossed  the  gang- 
way and  went  on  board  the  steamer.  He  was  going 
to  London,  too,  by  the  same  train  as  Janet,  and  his 
decision  to  do  so  could  only  have  been  come  to  on 
learning  her  intention.  On  the  spur  of  the  moment 


92  MILLIONS  OF  MISCHIEF 

he  must  have  excused  himself  to  Lord  Alphington  and 
Lady  Muriel  and  returned  to  catch  the  boat. 

Though  his  action  was  another  confirmation  of  my 
suspicions,  it  filled  me  with  the  gravest  apprehen- 
sions on  Janet's  behalf.  It  had  seemed  like  an  out- 
rage before  to  allow  a  young  and  inexperienced  girl 
to  go  to  London  alone  to  do  the  work  of  a  skilled 
detective.  Only  my  desperate  position  and  my  in- 
ability to  trust  any  one  else  had  eased  my  conscience 
as  to  her  mission.  But  that  the  man  to  whom,  if  our 
theory  was  correct,  her  quest  would  be  a  menace, 
should  be  in  London  while  she  was  engaged  upon  it 
was  intolerable.  What  could  his  object  he  but  to 
thwart  her  by  any  means  in  his  power?  If  indeed 
he  was  the  slayer  of  my  mother  and  sister,  he  was  a 
human  fiend  who  would  not  hesitate  to  cover  crime 
with  crime. 

Heaven  knows  what  an  agony  of  doubt  and  fear  I 
suffered  as  I  realized  the  situation.  I  felt  that  I 
could  not,  must  not,  let  Janet  go  alone.  I  would  at 
least  start  with  her,  and  on  the  boat  trust  to  luck 
either  to  dissuade  her  from  the  journey,  or  devise 
some  scheme  for  continuing  it  with  her.  I  turned 
fiercely  to  Herzog,  noting  as  I  did  so  that  his  face 
wore  its  most  saturnine  aspect. 

"I  am  going  to  be  ill,"  I  blurted  out.  "My  nerves 
will  stand  the  strain  no  longer.  A  trip  on  the  sea 
might  revive  me.  I  will  chuck  the  whole  thing  and 
give  myself  up  if  I  may  not  go  to  Lymington  and 
back  on  the  steamer.  It  is  your  only  chance  of  get- 
ting me  to  do  what  you  want." 

His  eyes  burned  and  scorched  into  mine,  but  sud- 


ENTER  LORD  ALPHINGTON  93 

denly  their  expression  changed  to  a  sardonic  smile. 
An  ominous  sound  fell  upon  our  ears— the  plashing 
of  the  steamer's  paddles. 

"With  all  the  will  in  the  world  I  could  not  grant 
your  request.  It  comes  too  late,"  he  said. 

It  was  too  true ;  the  boat  was  in  motion,  and  by  the 
time  I  could  have  jumped  for  her  would  have  been 
her  own  length  away.  Some  idea  of  my  half -formed 
intention  may  have  entered  my  companion's  mind, 
for  his  gently  restraining  hand  fell  on  my  arm. 

"Come,  my  friend,"  he  said.  "A  walk  to  the 
Needles  and  back  will  give  you  all  the  sea  air  you 
want,  and  you  will  be  a  good  deal  safer  with  me  than 
with  Mr.  Roger  Marske." 

And  he  led  me  away  along  the  pier,  steering  me 
through  the  chattering  throng  of  summer  visitors, 
and  so  up  the  chine  to  the  green  walk,  whence  we  had 
a  parting  view  of  the  steamer  that  bore  all  my  hopes 
and  fears.  As  she  rounded  Cliff  End  Point  and  dis- 
appeared I  could  have  wept  with  rage. 

"See  here,"  said  Herzog,  as  he  pushed  me  roughly 
down  on  to  a  seat;  "you  wish  to  save  your  neck, 
don't  you?  Well,  your  behavior  led  me  to  think  that 
you  had  forgotten  that  part  of  your  anatomy." 

"Why?"  I  asked  sullenly. 

"You  wanted  to  go  on  the  boat  with  Marske  to 
pick  a  quarrel  with  him  because  he  suspects  your 
identity — perhaps,  in  your  inborn  ferocity,  to  stran- 
gle him  or  throw  him  overboard,  eh?" 

That  motive  would  serve  as  well  as  another,  I 
was  about  to  say,  but  checked  the  words  in  good  time  I 
thought,  seeing  that  I  could  not  tell  him  the  real  one. 


94:  MILLIONS  OF  MISCHIEF 

"You  must  draw  your  own  inferences,"  I  replied 
in  the  same  sullen  tone. 

"Have  no  fear  but  that  I  shall  do  that,"  Herzog 
retorted  drily,  leaving  me  in  doubt  once  more 
whether  all  my  wrigglings  and  subterfuges  were  not 
thrown  away  upon  this  keen  peruser  of  human  docu- 
ments. That  he  had  not  yet  directly  alluded  to  Janet 
was  no  proof  that  he  had  not  divined  my  secret.  On 
the  contrary,  it  would  be  part  and  parcel  of  his  du- 
plicity to  allow  me  to  think  that  I  had  preserved  that 
secret  till  he  could  pounce  on  it,  tear  it  from  me,  and 
turn  it  to  his  own  ends. 

But  during  the  walk  which  we  took  out  and  back 
across  the  heather-clad  hills  his  mood  was  again  that 
of  the  genial  companion,  and  no  word  of  his  dread 
scheme  passed  his  lips  till  we  were  back  in  our  sitting 
room  at  "Springthorpe."  A  coroneted  envelope, 
addressed  to  me  as  "Martin,  Esq.,"  lay  on  the  table. 
Herzog  took  it  up,  opened  it  as  coolly  as  though  it 
had  borne  his  own  name,  and,  after  reading  the  con- 
tents, said  quietly: 

"An  invitation  for  both  of  us  to  dine  at  'Ardmore' 
to-morrow  night.  On  behalf  of  her  father,  Lady 
Muriel  is  very  pressing,  you  see.  As  you  are  getting 
restive  you  shall  have  your  way,  my  friend.  Before 
the  entertainment  is  over  you  shall  have  your  oppor- 
tunity to  lay  his  lordship's  proud  head  in  the  dust." 


JANET'S  NARRATIVE 


11 


CHAPTER  XII 

IN   THE   LONDON   EXPRESS   ' 

HAVE  been  asked  to  set  down  here  the  ex- 
periences which  I  went  through  in  those  dark 
days  after  Arthur's  almost  miraculous  ap- 
pearance at  Totland,  when  I  was  already 
mourning  him  as  lost  to  me  forever.  I  need  not  dwell 
on  the  shock  it  was  to  meet  him  suddenly,  in  the  com- 
pany of  that  terrible  Herzog,  on  the  green  walk  over- 
looking the  sea  amid  a  crowd  of  holiday-makers,  or  on 
what  happened  subsequently  down  to  my  departure  in 
search  of  the  mysterious  Danvers  Crane.  Nor  do  I  ask 
your  pity  for  a  girl  trying  to  stand  between  a  brave, 
true  lover  and  a  shameful  .death.  That  I  know  I  shall 
have  in  any  case.  But  what  I  do  implore  is  your  for- 
giveness for  the  stupid  blunders  that  I  made,  and  for 
the  nearly  fatal  mistake  of  underrating  my  oppo- 
nent's dangerous  cunning. 

When  this  crisis  swooped  upon  me  I  had  seen  very 
little  of  what  the  world  calls  "life,"  most  of  my  time 

95 


96  MILLIONS  OF  MISCHIEF 

and  care  having  been  devoted  to  my  dear,  cross  father 
in  our  small  house  at  Bays  water  till  I  met  Arthur  at 
a  dance  given  by  a  mutual  friend.  Our  acquaintance 
quickly  ripened  into  a  love  that  was  all  too  soon 
clouded  by  the  tragedy  of  his  arrest  and  sentence, 
followed  by  days  that  were  a  waking  nightmare, 
solaced  only  by  Muriel  Crawshay's  tender  sympathy. 
Without  that  I  must  have  died,  I  think. 

I  mention  this  to  show  what  a  helpless,  hopeless 
sort  of  person  I  was  to  start  on  such  a  quest,  with 
every  moment  of  value,  and  Arthur's  life  in  the  bal- 
ance. While,  hardly  less  in  importance,  was  the  vital 
necessity  of  proving  Arthur's  innocence  so  that  Lord 
Alphington  might  be  warned  against  the  unknown 
enemies,  of  whom  Herzog  was  the  figurehead.  In 
truth  was  I  a  broken'reed  to  lean  on,  and  I  could  only 
console  myself  that  a  broken  reed  was  better  than 
none  at  all. 

I  didn't  have  to  wait  till  I  reached  London  for  the 
magnitude  of  my  task  to  be  brought  home  to  me. 
Refreshed  by  the  breezy  trip  across  the  Solent,  I  had 
accomplished  the  short  train  journey  from  Lyming- 
ton  to  the  busy  junction  at  Brockenhurst  without 
adventure,  and  having  crossed  from  the  branch  to  the 
main  line  platform,  found  that  the  London  express 
was  not  due  for  ten  minutes.  I  was  standing  before 
the  bookstall,  idly  reading  the  contents  bills,  when,  to 
my  horror,  a  sneering  voice  whispered  at  my  ear : 

"Still  interested  in  the  escaped  murderer,  Miss 
Chilmark?" 

Turning  quickly,  I  was  confronted  by  Roger 
Marske,  whom  I  had  seen  at  Totland,  in  the  company 


IN  THE  LONDON  EXPRESS  97 

of  Lord  Alphington  and  Lady  Muriel,  walking  away 
from  the  steamer  in  which  I  had  crossed— the  very 
man  to  whom  my  vague  suspicions  pointed.  He  must 
have  come  on  board  at  the  last  moment,  and  have 
kept  out  of  my  way  during  the  passage  and  on  the 
landing-stage  at  Lymington.  Why  should  he  have 
acted  on  such  sudden  impulse?  To  pit  his  cunning 
against  my  feeble  wits,  and  thwart  the  enterprise  on 
which  I  had  embarked?  That  was  the  only  construc- 
tion that  my  brain  could  put  upon  it,  and  it  appalled 
while  in  some  degree  it  cheered  me.  The  correctness 
of  my  surmise  would  be  presumptive  evidence  of  his 
guilt. 

' '  Escaped  murderer ! "  I  exclaimed,  pretending  not 
to  take  him  seriously.  ' '  What  should  make  you  think 
I  had  such  morbid  interests,  Mr.  Marske?" 

He  laughed  harshly.  "The  subtle  art  of  deduc- 
tion, ' '  he  said.  ' '  Your  friend,  Lady  Muriel,  was  keen 
on  getting  hold  of  the  newspaper  on  the  day  I  escort- 
ed her  down  from  London  to  the  Isle  of  Wight — the 
day  after  Rivington's  escape— and  she  explained  it 
by  telling  me  that  it  was  a  vicarious  interest,  don't 
you  know.  A  friend  of  hers  was  worrying  about  the 
fellow,  and  as  you  have  been  so  much  with  her  lately, 
I  concluded  it  was  you." 

Thank  God,  not  treachery,  but  only  indiscretion,  on 
dear  Muriel's  part.  I  could  never  have  forgiven  her 
if  she  had  repeated  the  secret  I  had  confided  to  her— 
in  this  quarter  of  all  others. 

"It  is  certainly  not  in  the  direction  of  an  escaped 
murderer  that  my  interest  lies,"  I  said,  accepting  his 
challenge  in  the  emphasis  I  put  on  the  important 


98  MILLIONS  OF  MISCHIEF 

adjective  as  I  looked  him  full  in  the  eyes.  The  mo- 
ment the  words  had  passed  my  lips  I  was  conscious 
of  their  rashness,  inasmuch  as  they  would  confirm  his 
suspicion  of  my  latent  hostility.  If  this  man  was 
really  at  the  other  end  of  the  thin  skein  I  held  I  had 
most  effectually  put  him  on  his  guard. 

But  if  that  was  the  case,  he  at  least  showed  no  trace 
of  it.  There  was  no  alarm  in  the  smile  with  which  he 
received  my  foolishly  significant  disclaimer,  or  in  the 
slight  shrug  of  his  well-knit  shoulders.  Dismissing 
the  subject  with  an  airy  wave  of  his  hand,  he  asked  if 
I  was  going  to  London,  and,  if  so,  for  how  long.  The 
politeness  of  his  words  was  belied  by  the  insolence 
of  his  eyes,  but  feeling  that  I  had  gone  too  far  al- 
ready, I  answered  carelessly: 

"Yes,  I  am  going  to  London— to  look  at  a  house 
which  my  father  is  thinking  of  taking.  But  I  hope  to 
be  back  at  Totland  Bay  in  a  day  or  two." 

He  caressed  his  black  mustache  thoughtfully,  and, 
murmuring  a  few  commonplaces  about  his  pleasure 
at  my  speedy  return,  he  raised  his  hat  and  moved 
away.  A  few  minutes  passed,  and  then  the  express 
from  Bournemouth  to  London  rolled  in,  its  two  great 
gilded  Pullman  coaches  in  the  center. 

I  had  a  second-class  ticket,  and  in  an  intuitive  fear 
that  Mr.  Marske  might  annoy  me  on  the  journey  if  I 
gave  him  the  chance,  I  entered  a  compartment  in 
which  there  was  but  one  vacant  seat.  Turning  to 
close  the  door,  I  had  reason  to  rejoice  at  my  precau- 
tion. Roger  Marske  had  been  close  at  my  heels,  and 
the  scowl  on  his  fac  was  eloquent  of  his  disappoint- 
ment that  the  carriage  was  full. 


IN  THE  LONDON  EXPRESS  99 

When  the  train  started  I  surveyed  my  fellow  pas- 
sengers in  a  vain  attempt  to  divine  whether  I  was  to 
enjoy  the  security  of  their  company  for  the  whole 
of  the  journey.  The  majority  of  them  belonged  to 
the  same  party— father,  mother,  three  daughters,  and 
a  schoolboy.  But  though  it  was  easy  to  gather  from 
their  chatter  that  they  were  returning  from  a  holiday 
at  Bournemouth,  they  made  no  mention  of  their  desti- 
nation. If  they  should  get  out  at  Southampton  or 
Basingstoke — the  only  two  stoppages — there  would 
be  plenty  of  room  for  Mr.  Marske.  If  the  remaining 
three  passengers  got  out  too  I  should  be  alone  with 
him,  were  he  to  assail  the  compartment  again. 

The  train  sped  through  the  bosky  glades  of  the  New 
Forest,  and,  sure  enough,  at  Southampton  West  the 
paterfamilias  and  his  brood  filed  out,  leaving  me  in 
fear  that  I  was  to  be  deserted  except  by  two  feeble 
old  ladies.  The  one  remaining  passenger,  wearing, 
as  he  did,  a  mercantile  marine  uniform,  must  cer- 
tainly be  booked  for  the  great  seaport.  But,  no; 
when  Roger  Marske  leaped  into  the  compartment 
just  as  the  train  began  to  glide  from  the  station,  the 
sailor  was  still  sitting  motionless  in  his  corner,  his 
head  hidden  by  his  newspaper.  He  would  be  avail- 
able for  protection,  if  protection  should  become  nec- 
essary. 

Roger  Marske,  after  a  brief  glance  at  the  old  ladies 
and  a  longer  scrutiny  of  the  uniformed  figure  in  the 
corner,  carried  off  his  invasion  of  the  compartment 
with  an  impudent  assumption  of  having  been  sepa- 
rated from  me  at  Brockenhurst  as  much  to  my  cha- 
grin as  his  own. 


100  MILLIONS  OF  MISCHIEF 

"So  sorry,  Miss  Chilmark,  but  you  saw  that  my 
defection  was  unavoidable— one  of  the  mischances 
of  railway  traveling  in  this  benighted  country,"  he 
laughed  as  he  took  the  seat  opposite  mine.  "It  is 
better  than  I  had  hoped,  however.  I  was  afraid  that 
that  happily-departed  family  battalion  would  deprive 
me  of  your  society  all  the  way  to  town." 

Now  there  were  two  things  I  was  for  the  moment 
dreading  above  all  others — being  left  alone  with  this 
man  in  a  train  that  only  stopped  at  long  intervals, 
and  being  followed  by  him  when  I  left  the  terminus 
at  Waterloo.  Unless  the  two  old  ladies  and  the  sailor 
all  got  out  at  Basingstoke,  I  was  secure  from  the 
former  source  of  uneasiness,  and  I  therefore  thought 
it  wise  to  begin  to  prepare  the  ground  for  avoiding 
the  second  and  greater  evil.  On  arriving  in  London  I 
wanted  to  go  at  once  to  the  address  in  High  Street, 
Netting  Hill,  where,  according  to  Sarah  Leven,  the 
mysterious  Danvers  Crane  had  received  Clara  Riv- 
ington's  letters,  but  it  was  vitally  imperative  that  I 
should  pursue  that  investigation  without  Roger 
Marske's  knowledge.  If  the  detestable  persistence 
with  which  he  had  thrust  his  presence  on  me  gave  me 
the  opportunity  of  throwing  dust  in  his  eyes  I  should 
not  altogether  regret  his  intrusion. 

"As  you  are  here  I  may  as  well  make  use  of  you," 
I  said.  "I  came  away  in  such  a  hurry  that  I  had 
no  time  to  look  out  my  route.  How  does  one  get  from 
Waterloo  to  the  Harrow  district?" 

He  appeared  to  weigh  the  question  deeply,  knitting 
his  brows  at  the  landscape  fleeting  past  the  windows. 

"It  depends  to  some  extent  on  where  you  are  going 


IN  THE  LONDON  EXPRESS  101 

to  stay  while  you  are  in  town,"  he  replied  after  a 
pause.  ' '  You  would  wish  to  go  there  first,  I  presume, 
to  leave  your  luggage?" 

This  was  turning  the  tables  on  me  at  the  start,  for 
he  asked  the  one  piece  of  information  which  of  all 
the  vital  points  in  my  armor  of  defense,  this  one  of  all 
others  I  must  conceal.  I  had  intended  to  stay  the 
night  at  the  house  of  an  old  servant  who  had  set  up 
a  lodging-house  in  Bloomsbury,  but  I  would  not  tell 
him  that.  My  refuge  must  be  kept  sacred  at  the  cost 
of  prevarication,  if  not  of  a  downright  lie.  Surely 
my  cause— the  cause  of  Arthur's  safety— justified  de- 
ceit. 

Inspired  with  a  sudden  idea,  which  would  enable 
me  to  blend  truth  with  the  requisite  amount  of  men- 
dacity, I  replied:  "I  thought  of  going  to  the  Great 
Western  Hotel  at  Paddington  Station,  but  I  have  not 
finally  decided.  That  would  be  handy  for  Harrow, 
would  it  not?" 

He  showed  his  white  teeth  in  an  enigmatic  smile. 
"Most  convenient,"  he  said,  eyeing  me  in  the  same 
strange  manner.  "In  that  case  all  you  have  to  do 
is  to  drive  from  Waterloo  to  your  hotel,  and  then  go 
on  to  your  destination  by  the  District  Railway  from 
Praed  Street." 

I  thanked  him  as  artlessly  as  I  could,  and  changed 
the  subject  to  harmless  topics,  not  at  all  confident 
that  I  had  deceived  him  as  to  the  motive  for  my  jour- 
ney, and  all  the  while  oppressed  with  a  sense  that  he 
was  waiting.  Waiting  for  what  ?  To  murder  me  if  I 
was  left  alone  with  him  at  Basingstoke  ?  If  he  was  in 
truth  the  subject  of  poor  Clara  Rivington's  cabalistic 


102  MILLIONS  OF  MISCHIEF 

words,  there  would  be  nothing  preposterous  in  my 
apprehensions. 

The  clacking  wheels  formed  a  fitting  accompani- 
ment to  the  aimless  chatter  with  which  I  tried  to 
cover  my  suspense,  and  then,  all  too  soon,  there  was 
a  break  in  the  rhythmical  clang,  and  I  knew  that 
steam  was  being  shut  off  for  the  stop  at  Basingstoke. 
Almost  at  the  same  moment,  after  the  manner  of 
their  kind,  the  two  old  ladies  showed  signs  of  agita- 
tion. They  jumped  up  and  began  to  collect  their 
possessions  from  the  rack,  leaving  no  doubt  that  they 
were  about  to  quit  the  train.  But  the  mercantile 
marine  officer  sat  motionless  in  his  corner,  and  the 
paper  which  had  obscured  his  features,  having 
dropped  to  his  knees,  he  was  revealed  as  fast  asleep. 

As  soon  as  the  train  drew  up  at  the  platform  the 
old  ladies  descended,  but  the  sailor  sat  still,  breathing 
with  the  regularity  of  sound  slumber.  Five  minutes 
were  allowed  for  refreshments,  and  I  hoped  against 
hope  that  Mr.  Marske  would  go  to  the  buffet,  and  so 
enable  me,  without  need  for  excuse,  to  fly  to  another 
carriage.  But  he  retained  his  seat,  staring  blankly  at 
the  bustle  on  the  platform  till  four  out  of  the  five 
minutes  were  gone  and  carriage  doors  began  to  slam. 
Then  he  leaned  over  and  tapped  the  sleeping  man  on 
the  knee. 

"Pardon  me,  sir,"  he  said  as  the  sailor  awoke  with 
a  start.  "It  struck  me  that  the  attractions  of  the 
drowsy  god  might  be  causing  you  to  pass  your  desti- 
nation. This  is  Basingstoke." 

The  sleeper  sat  up  and  rubbed  his  eyes.  "Basing- 
stoke!" he  cried  with  a  stifled  oath.  "My  ship  sails 


IN  THE  LONDON  EXPRESS  103 

at  five  this  afternoon,  and  I  ought  to  have  got  out  at 
Southampton." 

"Your  uniform  half  led  me  to  fear  that  that  might 
be  the  case,"  said  Roger  Marske  politely,  as  the  other 
bundled  out  of  the  compartment,  leaving  me  face  to 
face  with  the  prospect  of  traveling  a  hundred  miles 
alone  in  the  company  of  the  man  I  already  hated, 
and  was  now  beginning  to  fear. 

A  queer  kind  of  magnetism  compelled  my  gaze  to 
meet  his,  and  something  I  saw  there  intensified  that 
vague  fear  into  a  sickly  sensation  of  positive  dread. 
The  feeling  overmastered  me  and  would  not  be  de- 
nied. I  was  slightly  nearer  to  the  door  than  he  was, 
and  using  that  advantage  I  took  him  by  surprise  and 
sprang  out  without  a  word  of  explanation.  A  moment 
later  I  was  paying  the  excess  fare  to  the  conductor 
of  the  Pullman  drawing-room  car,  and,  as  the  train 
started,  I  took  my  seat  amid  the  populous  security  of 
that  luxurious  vehicle. 


CHAPTER  XIII 
MRS.  WEBLEY'S  FICKLENESS 

|HEN  I  left  the  train  at  Waterloo,  though 
I  kept  my  eyes  sharply  about  me,  I  saw 
nothing  of  Roger  Marske,  and  I  proceeded 
to  put  into  practise  the  plan  which  I  had 
conceived  for  obliterating  my  tracks,  if,  as  was  prob- 
able, he  should  follow  me. 

Selecting  a  hansom  with  a  speedy-looking  horse  and 
a  keen-faced  driver,  I  bade  the  man  take  me  to  the 
Great  Western  Hotel  at  Paddington.  When  we  were 
clear  of  the  string  of  other  cabs  descending  the  station 
incline  into  the  Waterloo  Road,  I  raised  the  flap  and 
asked  the  driver  to  take  particular  notice  whether 
we  were  being  followed. 

"Who'll  be  following  you— a  gentleman  or  a  lady?" 
asked  the  man,  looking  me  over  curiously,  and  a  little 
suspiciously,  I  thought,  as  he  peered  down  from  his 
perch. 

"A  gentleman— in  a  light  gray  frock  coat  and  a 
Panama  straw  hat,"  I  replied.  "If  he  is  following 
me  at  all  he  will  probably  be  in  another  hansom. ' ' 

"Right  you  are,  miss.  I'll  give  you  the  office  if  I 
see  him,"  and  down  came  the  flap. 

104 


MRS.  WESLEY'S  FICKLENESS          105 

Across  the  bridge  and  along  the  Strand  and  Picca- 
dilly the  traffic  was  so  dense  that  I  did  not  expect 
any  communication  from  my  Jehu.  He  would  be 
fully  occupied  in  steering  his  own  cab,  nor  in  the  press 
of  vehicles  behind  would  he  be  able  to  single  out  one 
containing  a  fare  like  my  description.  But  when  he 
had  turned  up  Park  Lane  and  traversed  about  half  of 
that  street  the  flap  was  again  raised. 

"I  reckon  I've  spotted  your  toff,  miss.  He  ain't  in 
a  keb— leastways  not  in  a  'orse  keb.  He's  in  one  of 
those  blamed  private  tick-tacks,  with  a  shover  in  liv- 
ery," was  my  driver's  announcement. 

That  Mr.  Marske  should  have  wired  for  his  own 
motor  car  to  meet  him  was  more  than  likely.  He  be- 
longed to  the  class  that  possesses  such  luxuries. 

A  little  later  the  flap  was  raised  once  more.  ' '  He 's 
overhauling  us  fast,  miss.  Seems  as  though  he  was 
going  to  run  past  us, ' '  was  the  latest  report. 

And  then  I  remembered,  what  in  the  turmoil  press- 
ing on  my  poor  brain  I  had  forgotten— that  Sir  Gid- 
eon Marske,  Roger  Marske 's  father,  lived  in  one  of 
the  smaller  residences  in  the  aristocratic  thoroughfare 
through  which  we  were  passing.  There  was  the  chance 
that  he  might  not  be  following  me  after  all,  but  merely 
be  going  to  his  father's  town  house. 

And  sure  enough,  even  as  the  thought  occurred,  a 
smart  private  motor  cab  flashed  by  us  and  drew  to  the 
curb  opposite  a  house  a  little  ahead.  Roger  Marske 
leaped  out  and  stood  parleying  with  the  chauffeur, 
apparently  sublimely  unconscious  that  I  was  sitting 
back  in  my  hansom  lest  he  should  see  me.  But  so 
absorbed  did  he  seem  in  the  instructions  he  was  giving 


106  MILLIONS  OF  MISCHIEF 

to  his  servant  that  his  eyes  never  once  strayed  my 
way,  and  my  cab  passed— to  be  checked  almost  imme- 
diately by  a  lumbering  railway  van  in  front.  The 
delay  was  little  more  than  momentary,  but  I  chafed 
at  it  while  it  lasted,  and  I  could  have  sung  for  joy 
when  my  driver  found  an  outlet  and,  whipping  up  his 
horse,  forged  ahead  of  the  obstruction.  In  answer  to 
my  hurried  question  whether  the  motor  cab  had 
started  on  again  in  pursuit,  he  gave  an  emphatic  de- 
nial. 

"The  machine's  waiting,  and  the  gent's  gone  into 
the  house,"  he  said,  and  banged  down  the  flap. 

I  breathed  a  sigh  of  relief,  and  was  more  than  half 
tempted  so  far  to  relax  precautions  as  to  alter  my 
directions  to  the  cabman,  and  order  him  to  drive 
straight  to  Mrs.  Webley's  address  in  Notting  Hill.  So 
much  depended,  however,  on  my  keeping  that  visit 
secret,  that  I  decided  to  carry  out  my  original  design 
for  hiding  my  tracks.  This  was  the  simple  and,  as  I 
flattered  myself,  ingenious  one  of  entering  the  Great 
Western  Hotel  from  the  street  and  walking  out  by  the 
back  way  leading  into  the  terminus.  I  had  stayed  in 
the  hotel  with  my  father,  and  knew  my  way  about  the 
building,  and  as  I  had  brought  nothing  but  a  handbag 
I  should  be  hampered  by  no  considerations  as  to  lug- 
gage. 

Having  paid  the  cabman  liberally,  little  thinking 
that  he  had  sold  me  like  a  sheep  in  that  brief  interval 
during  our  stoppage  by  the  van,  I  put  my  scheme  into 
execution.  Making  an  excuse  to  the  hall-porter  that  I 
was  going  to  the  coffee-room  for  refreshments  before 
going  on  by  train,  I  hastened  through  the  corridors, 


MBS.  WEBLEY 'S  FICKLENESS          107 

and  so  down  the  stairs  giving  access  to  Paddington 
Station.  Going  round  to  the  arrival  platform,  I  was 
quickly  ensconced  in  another  cab,  having,  I  fondly 
believed,  given  my  possible  pursuer  the  slip. 

At  the  corner  of  High  Street,  Netting  Hill,  I  dis- 
missed this  second  cab  and  set  out  on  foot  to  find 
Number  420.  I  had  to  walk  a  considerable  distance 
before  I  came  to  it,  and  then,  just  as  I  had  expected, 
it  proved  to  be  a  small  newsvendor's  shop,  with  the 
legend  displayed  in  the  window: 

Letters  can  be  Called  for  or  Forwarded. 
Fee  One  Penny. 

First  ascertaining  that  the  name  of  Webley  was 
still  over  the  door,  I  crossed  the  dingy  threshold  into 
an  atmosphere  charged  with  the  pungent  smell  of 
printers'  ink.  A  stout  woman,  who  had  been  knitting 
behind  the  diminutive  counter,  rose  at  my  entrance- 
rose  greedily,  I  thought,  as  though  eager  for  custom. 
To  ingratiate  myself  with  her  I  bought  a  sixpenny 
magazine  and  half-a-dozen  penny  periodicals,  and 
while  completing  the  transaction  I  took  stock  of  the 
vendor. 

It  is  not  too  much  to  say  that  I  was  unfavorably 
impressed  by  Mrs.  Webley 's  appearance,  and  still 
more  so  by  her  manner.  Casually  glanced  at  she 
might  have  been  set  down  as  a  rather  stupid,  good- 
natured  mountain  of  female  flesh,  but  when  she  was 
analyzed  more  closely  the  impression  faded,  and  you 
became  aware  that  it  was  solely  due  to  her  liberal 
contour  of  face  and  form.  The  eyes,  set  very  near 


108  MILLIONS  OF  MISCHIEF 

together,  as  if  resenting  the  intervention  of  the  bulky 
nose,  were  small  and  red-rimmed,  and  though  expres- 
sionless by  reason  of  never  looking  at  you,  on  close 
inspection  shifted  hither  and  thither  like  those  of  a 
weasel.  All  the  time  Mrs.  Webley's  fat  fingers  were 
pouncing  on  the  papers  I  indicated,  her  eyes  were 
doing  double  duty,  darting  from  about  the  level  of  my 
chin  to  the  necessary  piles  of  literature,  but  never 
rising  to  meet  my  gaze. 

Not  an  engaging  personality  from  whom  to  seek  as- 
sistance in  a  matter  of  life  and  death,  nor  a  particu- 
larly trustworthy  one.  Yet  I  had  to  take  the  plunge. 

"You  receive  letters  here,"  I  said,  counting  out 
some  small  change  in  payment  for  my  purchases.  "Do 
you  keep  a  register  of  those  that  are  called  for  or  for- 
warded ? ' ' 

The  woman  raked  in  my  money  and  dropped  it  coin 
by  coin  into  the  till  before  answering. 

"I  suppose  that's  why  you  spent  a  shilling,"  she 
said  slowly;  "to  find  that  out.  No,  I  don't  keep  a 
register;  and  there's  something  else  I  don't  do.  I 
don 't  give  my  customers  away. ' ' 

Her  eyes  managed  to  get  to  the  level  of  my  nose  this 
time,  and  then  sank  swiftly  in  an  evident  attempt  to 
appraise  the  well-worn  but  servicable  coat  and  skirt  I 
was  wearing.  I  saw  her  meaning.  She  thought  I 
meant  to  have  letters  addressed  there,  and  she  was 
gauging  my  probable  value  to  her  from  the  black- 
mailer's point  of  view.  I  should  have  been  sorry  for 
any  correspondence  of  mine  to  pass  through  that 
harpy's  hands. 

Ignoring  her  profession  of  probity,  I  put  another 


MRS.  WEBLEY'S  FICKLENESS          109 

question:  "Can  you  give  me  the  present  address  of  a 
Mr.  Danvers  Crane,  who  used  to  have  his  letters  sent 
here  about  two  years  ago?" 

The  response  was  a  blank  shake  of  the  head,  accom- 
panied by  the  resumption  of  her  seat  and  her  knitting. 

"Come,"  I  persisted.  "I  am  willing  to  give  you  a 
sovereign  for  the  information,  and  I  will  promise  not 
to  fell  the  gentleman  where  I  obtained  it." 

I  remembered  within  the  next  few  days  that  when 
I  made  the  offer  she  looked  up  quickly,  but  that  her 
eyes,  missing  mine  as  usual,  wandered  past  me  to  the 
shop  window.  When  she  withdrew  them  after  the 
lapse  of  a  minute  and  focused  them  as  nearly  as  was 
possible  to  her  on  my  face,  her  manner  had  undergone 
a  complete  change. 

"Now  you  are  talking  business,"  she  said  briskly. 
"If  you  will  come  back  in  half  an  hour  I  dare  say  I 
shall  have  discovered  what  you  want." 

Having  had  nothing  to  eat  since  my  early  lunch  at 
Totland  before  joining  the  boat,  I  spent  the  interval 
partaking  of  some  tea  and  toast  well  made  and  served 
at  a  confectioner's,  and  on  presenting  myself  at  Mrs. 
Webley's  again  I  found  her  still  in  a  complacent 
mood. 

' '  Here  is  the  address,  though  I  don 't  know  whether 
the  gentleman  lives  there  still,"  she  said,  handing  me 
a  slip  of  paper  in  exchange  for  the  sovereign  which  I 
tendered  so  eagerly. 

"Can  you  describe  him?"  I  asked,  pausing  in  the 
doorway. 

But  without  looking  up,  Mrs.  Webley  muttered  to 
her  knitting  that  she  could  not  do  that,  as  she  had 


110  MILLIONS  OF  MISCHIEF 

never  seen  the  gentleman.     He  had  always  had  his 
letters  forwarded  by  post. 

I  was  out  in  the  street  in  a  moment,  for  I  could 
not  trust  myself  to  read  in  that  forbidding  presence. 
Scrawled  in  pencil,  this  was  what  met  my  feverish 
scrutiny : 

"Danvers  Crane,  Esq.,  The  Mill  House,  Chipping 
Wyvern,  Essex." 


CHAPTER  XIV 

IN  PERIL  BY  DAY 

M  first  sensation  on  perusing  Mrs.  Webley's 
I  villainous  handwriting  was  one  of  disappoint- 
ment. I  had  hoped  that,  though  she  had  re- 
ceived the  letters  addressed  to  "Danvers 
Crane,"  they  had  been  forwarded  by  her  to  Roger 
Marske,  in  which  case  I  should  indeed  have  gone  far 
toward  establishing  my  solution  of  Clara  Rivington's 
last  utterance. 

That  that  utterance  was  meant  in  some  way  to  indi- 
cate her  murderer  I  had  not  the  shadow  of  a  doubt, 
but  unless  I  could  trace  some  connection  between  her 
and  Roger  Marske  my  reading  of  the  cryptogram  was 
useless  for  the  purpose  of  clearing  Arthur.  My  lover's 
sister  might  have  been  in  correspondence  with  twenty 
"Danvers  Cranes"  without  that  shedding  any  light 
on  her  mysterious  accusation.  The  poor  girl  had  said 
nothing  about  Danvers  Crane.  Her  words  had  been 
"Man,  mask,  Roger." 

Still,  there  was  of  course  the  possibility  that  Roger 
Marske  might  be  at  the  other  end  of  the  clue  in  spite 
of  this.  To  a  scheming  scoundrel,  bent  on  concealing 
his  identity,  a  dual  use  of  a  false  name  would  have 
been  as  easy  as  a  single  one.  Though  why,  as  Clara 
Rivington,  according  to  my  theory,  must  have  known 

111 


112  MILLIONS  OF  MISCHIEF 

his  real  name,  there  should  have  been  need  for  con- 
cealment in  his  dealings  with  Mrs.  Webley  was  beyond 
my  fathoming,  and  for  the  present  I  would  not  at- 
tempt a  solution.  I  would  go  on,  along  the  only  road 
that  had  opened  to  me,  on  the  chance  of  finding  Roger 
Marske  at  the  end  of  it.  I  had  lost  count  of  time  in 
the  whirl  that  had  encircled  me  since  my  arrival  at 
Waterloo,  but  now  I  glanced  at  my  watch  and  saw  that 
it  was  nearly  seven  o'clock.  It  was  too  late,  with  all 
the  will  in  the  world,  to  think  of  going  down  to  Essex 
that  day  to  an  unknown  destination,  which  might  be 
miles  from  the  nearest  station,  and  loth  as  I  was  to 
lose  any  time  in  the  furtherance  of  my  task,  I  sought 
an  asylum  for  the  night  with  our  old  cook  in  her 
Bloomsbury  lodging-house.  That  I  received  a  warm 
welcome,  and  lay  awake  till  the  small  hours  thinking 
of  Arthur  in  his  terrible  predicament  in  the  company 
of  that  hateful  Herzog,  are  mere  details  which  I  have 
no  space  to  dwell  upon. 

I  was  up  betimes  in  the  morning,  and,  having 
looked  out  my  route  on  the  previous  evening,  caught 
an  early  train  at  Liverpool  Street  for  Brentwood. 
There  I  ascertained  by  inquiry  at  the  station  that 
Chipping  Wyvern  was  a  mere  hamlet  three  miles  away 
in  the  heart  of  the  country.  As  it  was  a  lovely  sum- 
mer day,  and  I  wished  to  be  free  to  make  inquiries 
before  going  to  the  Mill  House,  I  obtained  directions 
from  a  friendly  porter,  and  set  off  to  walk  the  distance 
at  my  best  pace. 

For  a  mile  beyond  the  outskirts  of  the  town  I  fol- 
lowed the  high  road,  but  then  I  crossed  a  stile  to  avail 
myself  of  a  short  cut  that  had  been  described  to  me. 


A  PEACE  MAGISTRATE  129 

office.  I  was  given  to  understand  at  the  lodge  that 
you  are  a  magistrate,  and  I  want  to  speak  to  you  on 
most  important  business— swear  an  information,  I 
think  it  is  called. ' ' 

An  exclamation  that  sounded  like  annoyance 
escaped  him,  but  he  atoned  for  it  by  a  polite  gesture 
toward  the  open  French  window.  I  could  only  see 
him  indistinctly  in  the  blend  of  dying  daylight  and 
a  rising  moon,  yet  I  gathered  an  impression  of  capa- 
bility, and  the  custom  of  command,  tempered  by  age. 

' '  If  you  will  be  so  good  as  to  step  in  here, ' '  he  said, 
leading  the  way,  "we  shall  save  the  servants  the 
trouble  of  answering  the  door.  This  is  my  justice- 
room,  but  I  also  use  it  for  smoking  purposes  after 
dinner. ' ' 

In  the  gloom  of  the  garden  I  had  taken  him  for  a 
country  gentleman,  disappointed  that  I  was  not  the 
bearer  of  a  telegram  announcing  the  result  of  some 
race  in  which  he  was  interested.  Here,  in  the  shaded 
lamplight  of  the  luxurious  apartment,  I  at  once  recog- 
nized my  mistake.  He  to  whom  I  was  about  to  im- 
part my  accusation  against  Roger  Marske  was  no 
sportsman  in  the  usual  acceptance  of  the  term.  He 
was  an  old  man  with  a  sallow,  unwholesome  complex- 
ion, suggestive  of  late  hours  and  life  in  cities,  his 
burning  eyes  under  the  cavernous  brows  alone  having 
defied  physical  decay. 

These  he  fixed  upon  me  in  a  searching  gaze  as  he 
seated  himself  at  a  great  pedestal  table,  and  I  at  once 
remembered  what  till  now  in  my  excitement  I  had 
forgotten— that  my  appearance  after  the  climb  up  the 
stack-pipe  could  be  none  of  the  tidiest. 


130  MILLIONS  OF  MISCHIEF 

"You  look  as  if  you  had  met  with  ill-treatment. 
You  wish  to  prefer  a  charge  of  assault  ? "  he  inquired 
sharply,  taking  up  a  pen  and  drawing  paper  toward 
him. 

"I  wish  to  prefer  a  charge  of  murder,  and  also  of 
attempted  murder,  against  one  Roger  Marske,"  I 
answered  him  eagerly. 

Slowly,  very  slowly,  he  replaced  the  pen  in  the  tray, 
and,  joining  the  tips  of  his  fingers,  bent  his  chin  to 
them  as  he  surveyed  me  with  a  perfectly  sphinx-like 
countenance.  The  scrutiny  lasted  a  full  minute. 

' '  Of  murdering,  and  of  attempting  to  murder  whom, 
do  you  accuse — this  person?"  he  inquired  presently, 
in  a  tone  that  sounded  unpromising.  It  was  not  alto- 
gether incredulous,  but  there  was  a  hostile  ring  in  it 
that  jarred,  I  knew  not  why.  In  putting  the  ques- 
tion he  worked  his  face  in  a  curious  contortion  that 
was  hardly  a  smile,  and  I  saw  that  his  few  remaining 
teeth  were  sharp  and  yellow,  like  an  aged  dog's  fangs. 

"I  accuse  him  of  murdering  a  young  lady  named 
Clara  Rivington  and  her  mother, ' '  I  replied,  ignoring 
the  second  and  less  material  half  of  his  question  for 
the  present.  "The  matter  is  urgent,  because  a  per- 
fectly innocent  man  has  been  convicted  of  the  crime, 
and  will  be— will  be  hanged  if  he  is  recaptured,"  I 
added,  nearly  breaking  down. 

"Recaptured!  The  convict's  name?"  demanded 
the  magistrate  in  his  high-pitched  treble,  shooting  a 
glance  at  me  that  boded  ill  for  my  cause. 

"Arthur  Rivington— the  prisoner  who  escaped  from 
Winchester  Jail.  You  must  have  heard  of  it,"  said 
I;  and  then  a  great  fear  seized  me  that  he  would 


A  PEACE  MAGISTRATE  131 

ask  me  if  I  had  met  or  communicated  with  Arthur 
since  his  escape.  I  should  have  to  lie  if  he  did,  for 
I  could  not  confess  to  this  strange-mannered,  un- 
sympathetic old  man  that  I  had  seen  my  lover.  For 
the  same  reason  my  lips  were  sealed  about  the  plot 
against  Lord  Alphington,  which  alone  I  could  have 
learned  from  Arthur.  Doubtless  my  name  and  address 
would  be  taken;  it  would  be  known  that  I  had  come 
from  Totland  Bay,  and  if  I  told  of  my  interview  with 
Arthur  he  would  be  traced  thither  before  his  safety 
was  assured.  But  I  was  not  called  upon  to  lie. 

"Yes,"  replied  my  interrogator  drily,  "I  have 
heard  of  the  case.  Now  be  so  good  as  to  lay  your 
information  against  this  other  one,  who,  according 
to  this  extraordinary  story  of  yours,  ought  to  be  in 
the  convict's  shoes." 

So  I  took  a  step  nearer  to  the  table  and  poured  out 
my  story — how  I  had  formed  the  theory  that  Clara 
Rivington's  last  words  indicated  the  name  of  her 
murderer,  how  I  had  started  out  to  trace  the  myste- 
rious "Danvers  Crane,"  and  how  the  person  whose 
name  of  Marske  had  inspired  the  idea  had  followed 
and  lain  in  wait  for  me  at  the  address  which  I  had 
connected  with  "Danvers  Crane." 

The  old  man  ran  his  delicate  fingers  through  the 
scanty  hairs  on  his  forehead  and  regarded  me  with 
keen  comprehension.  "Then  Roger  Marske  was  at 
your  point  of  departure  on  this  extraordinary 
errand  ? "  he  asked. 

"Yes,"  I  answered,  seeing  no  harm  in  the  admis- 
sion. This  country  justice  of  the  peace  could  not 
possibly  be  aware  that  Arthur  was  in  the  Isle  of 


132  MILLIONS  OF  MISCHIEF 

Wight,  I  told  myself,  any  more  than  he  could  have 
known  of  Roger  Marske's  presence  there. 

"And  where  did  the  chase  end?"  he  went  on. 
''Where  did  this  strenuous  villain,  as  you  describe 
him,  lie  in  wait  for  you  ? ' ' 

"At  the  Mill  House  at  Chipping  Wyvern,  which 
is  even  now  on  fire  through  his  attempt  to  burn  me  in 
it, "  I  replied. 

I  had  made  an  impression  at  last.  The  old  man 
half  rose  from  his  chair,  his  lips  twitching  and  his 
blue-veined  fist  clenched  in  a  gesture  of  menace  which 
it  was  impossible  to  account  for.  Could  it  be  that 
he  resented  my  having  brought  such  an  unsavory 
business  so  close  to  his  own  domain  ? 

"The  Mill  House  at  Chipping  Wyvern.  Then 

where  is "  he  was  beginning  to  shrill  at  me,  when 

a  tap  at  the  door  checked  him.  A  footman  in  a  plain 
but  handsome  livery  entered,  but  paused  irresolute  on 
seeing  me.  His  action  was  unusual  for  one  of  his 
class,  yet  when  illumined  by  the  message  he  bore 
seemed  fully  explained  to  me.  With  a  gesture  of  im- 
patience, such  as  he  had  shown  when  meeting  me  on 
the  lawn,  the  magistrate  spoke. 

"Well,  Sanders,  what  is  it?"  his  master  asked 
sharply. 

"I  beg  pardon,  Sir  Gideon,  but  Mr.  Roger  has  ar- 
rived from  London  and  sent  me  to  see  if  you  were  in 
your  room, ' '  was  the  reply  that  set  my  knees  trembling 
as  they  had  never  trembled  before  throughout  that 
fateful  day.  In  ignorance  I  had  made  an  official  con- 
fidant of  the  father  of  the  man  I  came  to  charge.  This 
was  Sir  Gideon  Marske,  the  well-known  Cabinet  Min- 


A  PEACE  MAGISTRATE  133 

ister,  and  I  did  not  need  to  look  twice  at  him  to  see 
which  side  he  was  going  to  take. 

"Inform  Mr.  Roger  that  I  am  here,  and  that  I 
shall  be  obliged  if  he  will  step  this  way, ' '  he  said  to  the 
footman,  who  bowed  and  retired. 


ARTHUR  RIVINGTON'S  NARRATIVE 
CONTINUED 


CHAPTER  XVII 

THE    TUBE    OF    ATROPINE 

N  the  morning  after  Janet's  departure  Herzog 
elected,  in  spite  of  a  cloudless  sky,  to  remain 
indoors,  satisfying  the  curiosity  of  Mrs. 
Krance  with  the  invented  explanation  that  I 
was  not  very  well,  and  must  save  myself  up  for  the 
dinner  at  Lord  Alphington's  in  the  evening.  His  real 
reason  for  not  going  out  was  soon  apparent  in  the  re- 
ceipt of  several  telegrams  which  arrived  at  short  in- 
tervals, all  of  them  demanding  prompt  replies. 

So  absorbed  was  he  in  this  business  that,  without 
letting  me  out  of  his  sight,  he  left  me  pretty  much 
to  my  own  devices.  He  had  said  nothing  to  me  as 
yet  about  the  means  he  intended  me  to  employ  for 
the  assassination  of  the  Prime  Minister,  and  I  was 
beginning  to  hope  that  for  that  night  at  least  I  should 
be  reprieved  from  the  ordeal  of  defying  my  evil 
genius.  For  all  that,  I  was  utterly  miserable  and 
dejected.  The  ill-omened  and,  I  believed,  unpremedi- 

134 


THE  TUBE  OF  ATROPINE  135 

tated  departure  of  Roger  Marske  by  the  same  boat  as 
Janet,  had  kept  me  tossing  in  anxiety  for  my  brave 
girl  till  dawn,  and  now  as  the  slow  day  wore  on  I 
could  hardly  contain  myself. 

I  wondered  if  Colonel  Chilmark,  whose  querulous 
tones  in  conversation  with  the  landlady  often  reached 
me  from  the  opposite  sitting-room,  had  heard  from  his 
daughter.  There  would  have  been  plenty  of  time  for 
her  to  notify  her  safe  arrival  in  London  so  as  to  reach 
her  father  by  first  post. 

"This  is  deadly  dull,"  I  said,  affecting  a  yawn 
toward  luncheon  time,  when  Herzog  was  hard  at  it 
translating  one  of  his  cipher  telegrams.  "Would 
there  be  any  objection  to  my  going  and  having  a  yarn 
with  that  old  Colonel  over  the  way?  You  can  keep 
your  eye  on  the  front  door,  to  see  that  I  don't  bolt." 

My  companion  looked  round  from  his  occupation 
at  the  table  in  the  window,  squaring  his  broad 
shoulders  to  get  a  better  view  of  me  as  I  lounged 
against  the  mantelpiece.  His  eyes  pierced  like  gim- 
lets, but  something  of  the  sternness  passed  from  them 
before  he  spoke. 

"My  friend,"  he  said,  "you  are  not  in  social  mood; 
neither,  I  expect,  is  Colonel  Chilmark,  after  being  de- 
serted by  his  charming  daughter.  It  will  be  better 
for  both  of  you  if  you  remain  where  you  are.  Take 
comfort  by  the  fact  that  I  shall  relieve  your  boredom 
by  occupying  your  attention  very  fully  after  lunch. ' ' 

I  dared  not  press  the  matter,  never  knowing  how  far 
this  human  enigma  had  penetrated  into  my  inmost 
soul.  He  turned  to  his  work  again,  and  having 
handed  his  reply-telegram  to  the  waiting  messenger, 


136  MILLIONS  OF  MISCHIEF 

smoked  in  silence  till  Mrs.  Krance  appeared  with  the 
luncheon  tray. 

The  meal  over,  Herzog  surprised  me  with  the  pro- 
posal that  we  should  go  out  in  a  boat,  my  astonishment 
being  greater  when,  after  descending  to  the  beach,  he 
declined  the  services  of  the  owner  of  the  craft  he 
hired. 

"My  friend  will  row  me  about,  and  as  we  shall  not 
go  far  from  the  shore  you  need  be  under  no  appre- 
hension for  us  or  for  your  boat, ' '  he  said  to  the  boat- 
man. "I  am  his  doctor,  and  I  prescribe  the  exercise 
for  him." 

Motioning  me  to  take  the  oars,  he  sat  in  the  stern, 
and  when  we  had  pushed  off  his  explanation  was  forth- 
coming. "Walls  and  hedges  have  ears,  and  I  have 
instructions  to  give  which  must  not  be  overheard," 
he  said  in  a  low  voice.  "Keep  away  from  the  pier 
and  avoid  other  boats  while  I  school  you  to  win  your 
freedom. ' ' 

Pulling  clear  of  the  youths  and  maidens  in  canoes, 
and  threading  a  course  through  the  yacht  anchorage, 
I  swung  to  the  left  and  bore  away  to  shelter  under 
the  shadow  of  the  cliffs,  where  we  were  in  comparative 
seclusion.  Herzog,  whose  eyes  and  ears  had  been 
for  surroundings,  now  concentrated  his  attention  on 
me,  and  it  must  have  occurred  to  him  that  it  is  diffi- 
cult to  study  the  physiognomy  of  a  man  rowing  a 
broad-beamed  wherry  with  a  stout  passenger  in  the 
stern. 

"Let  her  drift  a  little,  and  look  at  this,"  he  said. 

He  referred  to  a  pill-box  which  he  took  from  his 
waistcoat  pocket,  removing  the  lid  and  holding  it 


THE  TUBE  OF  ATROPINE  137 

toward  me.  It  was  nearly  full  of  cotton  wool,  on 
which  lay  a  tiny  tube  of  india-rubber.  ' '  Take  it  care- 
fully, it  is  a  very  delicate  contrivance,"  he  added. 

Holding  the  box  in  the  palm  of  my  hand,  I  saw 
that  the  tube  was  bulbed  at  one  end,  after  the  fashion 
of  the  "release"  of  the  pneumatic  shutter  of  a  snap- 
shot camera.  The  whole  thing  was  very  small,  not 
more  than  half  an  inch  long. 

"Looks  like  a  sort  of  squirt.  What  am  I  to  do 
with  it  ? "  I  asked,  more  than  half  guessing  its  deadly 
purpose. 

"That  tube  contains,  in  solution,  a  grain  of 
atropine,  as  you  are  probably  aware,  a  most  potent 
and  instantaneous  poison,"  Herzog  replied,  watching 
me  intently.  "When  we  are  sitting  over  our  wine 
with  Lord  Alphington  to-night  you  will  find  or  make 
an  opportunity  for  squeezing  it  into  his  wine-glass. 
He  will  be  a  dead  man  in  two  minutes,  and  unless  you 
bungle  the  operation  no  suspicion  will  rest  on  you 
till  after  the  autopsy.  You  will  be  there,  remember, 
as  an  honored  guest,  who  three  days  ago  saved  Lady 
Muriel's  life  at  the  risk  of  your  own." 

"It  sounds  easy,"  I  said,  stifling  my  nausea  with 
an  effort,  and  pretending  deep  interest  in  the  tube. 

"  It  is  easy ;  I  have  made  it  so  intentionally,  Eiving- 
ton,  because  you  must  forgive  me  for  saying  that  I 
miss  something  in  you  which  your  reputation  had  led 
me  to  expect— the  power  of  initiation." 

I  forced  a  laugh,  trying  to  make  it  cynical.  "You 
are  quite  fatherly  in  your  solicitude,  but  I  do  not 
think  that  you  will  find  that  I  shall  bungle  the  ad- 
ministration of  his  lordship's  dose,"  I  replied.  And 


138  MILLIONS  OF  MISCHIEF 

then,  well  knowing  that  there  would  be  no  need  for 
the  information,  but  to  deceive  him,  I  added:  "And 
where  do  I  come  in?  What  arrangements  have  you 
made  for  me  to  get  away,  which,  after  all,  is  the 
essence  of  our  contract?" 

"The  safest  and  surest  arrangements,"  he  said. 
"We  shall  return  to  our  lodgings,  after  the  proper 
condolences ;  you  will  take  the  first  train  from  Fresh- 
water to  Cowes  in  the  morning,  cross  to  Southampton, 
and  be  on  board  the  Royal  Mail  steamer  that  sails  for 
South  American  ports  in  the  afternoon,  with  two 
hundred  pounds  in  your  pocket. ' ' 

For  answer  I  shut  down  the  lid  of  the  pill-box  and 
placed  it  in  my  vest  pocket.  Then,  resuming  the  oars 
on  which  I  had  rested,  I  pulled  slowly  toward  the 
shore,  hoping  that  the  significance  of  my  action  had 
been  misunderstood  in  the  way  I  wished.  I  gained 
the  impression  that  it  had,  for  Herzog  nodded  his 
satisfaction  and  allowed  me  to  retain  the  box. 

It  was  still  in  my  pocket  when,  some  hours  later, 
we  quitted  our  lodgings  and  walked  round  to  "Ard- 
more"  in  the  gathering  dusk  to  keep  our  dinner  en- 
gagement. Under  the  lamp  opposite  the  entrance 
gates  Herzog  plucked  the  sleeve  of  my  dress  coat  and 
came  to  an  abrupt  halt. 

"One  moment— I  want  to  look  at  that  thing,"  he 
said. 

Cold  beads  of  perspiration  broke  out  on  my  fore- 
head, but  I  produced  the  box  and  stood  with  quaking 
knees  while  he  examined  the  little  syringe.  The 
grunt  with  which  he  returned  it  told  me  nothing.  It 
was  one  of  the  mystifying  oddities  of  my  guardian 


THE  TUBE  OF  ATROPINE  139 

sphinx.  Most  men  give  vent  to  a  muttered  ejacula- 
tion, an  intonation  betraying  the  hidden  thought 
within,  be  it  of  approbation  or  disgust.  But  Herzog's 
real  sentiments  were  beyond  fathoming. 

"Is  it  all  right — in  good  working  order?"  I  asked, 
feeling  constrained  to  say  something. 

" Quite  right,"  he  answered,  glancing  at  me  curi- 
ously in  the  lamplight.  "Come  along,  or  we  shall 
keep  our  noble  host  and  hostess  waiting." 


w 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

SLEIGHT  OF  HAND 

|HEN  Lord  Alphington's  butler  announced 
us  as  "Mr.  Martin  and  Doctor  Barratries" 
at  the  drawing-room  door,  and  Lady  Muriel 
and  the  greatest  servant  of  the  King  came 
forward  to  welcome  the  escaped  convict,  I  had  no 
thought  for  the  grim  humor  of  the  situation.  For  the 
moment  even  I  had  no  thought  for  myself,  or  of  the 
cataclysm  I  was  supposed  by  my  companion  to  be 
there  to  bring  about.  I  was  more  concerned  to  see 
if  Roger  Marske  had  returned  from  his  dangerous 
proximity  to  Janet  in  London.  A  swift  glance  round 
showed  that  he  was  not  in  the  apartment. 

The  sonorous  tones  of  the  Premier  recalled  me  to 
a  sense  of  present  surroundings  and  to  the  vital  neces- 
sity for  all-round  deception.  I  almost  felt  Herzog's 
eyes  burning  on  the  nape  of  my  neck. 

' '  In  such  a  debt  as  you  have  laid  on  me,  Mr.  Martin, 
words  count  for  little, ' '  said  Lord  Alphington,  warmly 
gripping  my  hand.  "I  should  like  to  do  something. 
But  there,  you  are  a  rich  man,  I  am  told,  with  no  pre- 
occupations beyond  your  health,  and  I  must  content 
myself  with  conventional  thanks." 

140 


SLEIGHT  OP  HAND  141 

Gracious  Heaven!  Do  something  for  me?  If  he 
would  only  take  the  noose  from  round  my  neck  and 
restore  my  honor,  was  my  unspoken  thought,  as  I 
murmured  a  feeble  reply. 

With  ready  tact  he  passed  on  to  Herzog  after  a 
minute's  chat,  which  his  quick  intuition  must  have 
told  him  was  for  some  reason  painful  to  me,  and  I 
was  taken  in  charge  by  Lady  Muriel,  who  made  much 
of  me,  and  was  much  concerned  lest  I  should  have 
taken  harm  by  my  immersion.  Sympathetic  as  she 
was,  I  was  conscious  that  she  was  a  little  distrait. 
Her  eyes  kept  wandering  to  the  door,  and  I  guessed 
that  our  dinner  party  was  not  complete.  Some  one 
else  was  expected,  and  my  mind  again  reverted  to 
Roger  Marske.  Somehow  I  could  think  of  nothing 
that  night  but  that  Janet  and  he  had  gone  away  in 
the  same  steamer  with,  if  my  sweetheart's  theory  was 
right,  diametrically  opposite  interests  at  stake.  I 
have  often  speculated  since  whether  animal  mag- 
netism, or  some  such  influence,  was  at  work  upon  me, 
inspiring  the  instinct  that  these  two  were  under  the 
same  roof  and  she  in  dire  peril. 

It  was  not  Roger  Marske  whom  the  butler  presently 
ushered  in,  but,  had  it  been,  the  name  as  it  left  his 
lips  could  hardly  have  caused  me  a  greater  shock. 

"Mr.  Ralph  Garden,"  was  the  announcement  which 
drew  my  gaze  to  the  door  in  consternation,  and  told 
me  that  I  stood  on  the  verge  of  discovery.  Yes,  there 
was  no  shadow  of  doubt  about  it.  The  well-knit, 
sunburnt  young  fellow  who  entered  was  the  same 
Ralph  Garden  who  had  joined  the  Royal  Military 
Academy  at  Woolwich  in  my  last  term  there.  That 


142  MILLIONS  OF  MISCHIEF 

had  been  ten  years  ago,  but  we  had  been  cadets  to- 
gether for  three  months,  and  he  could  scarcely  fail 
to  recognize  me. 

The  removal  of  my  mustache  was  really  in  favor  of 
such  recognition.  For  though  it  had  completely 
changed  my  recent  appearance,  it  had  made  me  much 
more  closely  resemble  what  I  had  been  in  my  Wool- 
wich days. 

Garden  advanced  rapidly  into  the  room  with  many 
apologies  for  being  late,  giving  all  his  attention  at 
first  to  Lady  Muriel  and  Lord  Alphington.  It  did 
not  add  to  my  comfort  to  perceive  that  my  agitation 
was  not  lost  upon  Herzog,  but  I  used  the  brief 
respite  to  brace  myself,  and  when  the  ordeal  came  I 
was  more  prepared  for  it. 

"Mr.  Garden,"  said  Lady  Muriel,  bringing  him 
forward,  "let  me  introduce  you  to  Mr.  Martin  and 
his  friend  Dr.  Barrables.  You  have  heard  of  my 
narrow  escape  from  drowning  the  other  day.  It  was 
Mr.  Martin  who  so  gallantly  jumped  overboard  and 
fished  me  out." 

Ralph  Garden  held  out  his  hand  with  frank  im- 
petuosity, born,  I  was  to  learn  later,  of  gratitude  to 
the  man  who  had  saved  the  woman  he  loved.  Then, 
as  his  gaze  met  mine— I  made  no  attempt  to  avert  it 
— a  spasm  crossed  his  boyish  face  and  the  laughing 
eyes  grew  hard  and  cold.  Whatever  feeling  may 
have  been  in  his  mind  he  mastered  it  quickly  and 
with  the  natural  instinct  of  a  gentleman  politely 
spoke  a  few  words  of  conventional  tribute  to  what  he 
was  pleased  to  call  my  pluck.  But  there  was  con- 
straint in  his  voice,  and  I  knew  that  if  he  had  not 


SLEIGHT  OF  HAND  143 

actually  recognized  me,  he  had  been  struck  by  my 
likeness  to  the  now  notorious  "murderer." 

Dinner  was  announced  at  that  moment,  and,  as  the 
honor  of  escorting  Lady  Muriel  was  allotted  to  me 
as  the  guest  of  the  evening,  the  immediate  tension 
was  relieved.  Only,  however,  to  be  diverted  into 
another  channel,  for  we  were  scarcely  seated  at  table 
when  Lady  Muriel  confided  to  me  that  she  had  had 
two  dull  days  because  her  dear  friend  Miss  Chilmark 
had  been  compelled  to  go  to  London  unexpectedly. 

"And  Roger— you  must  have  missed  Roger,"  Lord 
Alphington  chimed  in  rather  anxiously,  I  thought. 
"Can't  imagine  what  possessed  the  fellow  to  run  off 
like  that.  He  had  no  notion  of  it,  I  am  sure,  when 
he  came  down  to  the  pier  to  meet  me.  His  excuse 
of  a  telegram  calling  him  away  won't  wash.  No 
telegram  was  brought  to  him  in  the  interval  between 
my  landing  and  his  bolting  off  so  unceremoniously 
as  we  were  walking  up." 

"Mr.  Marske's  goings  and  comings  are  beyond  me. 
I  cannot  say  that  I  have  missed  him,"  was  the  re- 
joinder of  Lady  Muriel,  which  brought  a  frown  to  her 
father'  brow,  and  such  a  pleased  flush  to  Ralph 
Garden's  cheek  that  even  then,  in  my  sore  distress, 
I  began  to  guess  how  matters  were  between  these 
two  young  people. 

From  the  general  conversation  that  ensued  I  gath- 
ered that  Garden  was  serving  as  a  lieutenant  in  one 
of  the  batteries  of  Garrison  Artillery  stationed  at 
Golden  Hill  Fort— the  headquarters  of  the  coast  de- 
fense in  that  part  of  the  island.  His  presence  at  the 
Premier's  table  was  accounted  for  by  the  fact  that  he 


144  MILLIONS  OF  MISCHIEF 

was  a  distant  connection,  his  mother  residing  in  the 
"dower-house"  on  one  of  Lord  Alphington's  country 
estates.  From  the  mutual  reminiscences  they  ex- 
changed, Lady  Muriel  and  he  had  evidently  known 
each  other  from  childhood. 

Herzog  was  very  silent  during  dinner,  playing  the 
part  of  medical  attendant  to  a  wealthy  invalid  to 
perfection.  What  little  he  said  was  to  the  point,  but 
not  calculated  to  attract  attention.  It  struck  me 
that  he  was  aiming  at  effacing  himself,  so  that  in  the 
tragedy  which  he  believed  my  waistcoat  pocket  to 
hold  he  might  be  forgotten. 

"And  pray,  Mr.  Martin,"  said  Lord  Alphington, 
turning  to  me  presently  with  stately  politeness,  "what 
is  your  county  when  you  are  at  home  ?  I  understand 
that  you  are  not  a  permanent  resident  in  this  charm- 
ing spot." 

Herzog 's  foresight  had  provided  for  this  emergency, 
and  I  was  fairly  ready  with  the  reply  that  I  lived  in 
London  the  greater  part  of  the  year— a  wide  gener- 
ality which  my  host's  indifference,  or  politeness,  de- 
terred him  from  pressing  to  a  conclusion.  It  was 
reserved  for  Ralph  Garden  to  try  to  tempt  me  into 
particulars,  and  he  did  it  with  a  clumsy  eagerness, 
suggesting  that  he  had  been  waiting  his  chance. 

"If  you  will  be  there  in  October,  and  will  give  me 
your  address,  I  should  much  like  to  call  upon  you," 
he  said,  fixing  those  honest  eyes  of  his  on  me  from 
across  the  circular  table. 

Once  again  Herzog 's  previous  prompting  met  the 
emergency  and  prevented  any  inconvenient  research 
in  the  London  Directory.  "It  is  very  doubtful  if  I 


SLEIGHT  OF  HAND  145 

shall  be  in  town  in  October,"  I  replied,  shuddering 
at  the  painful  truth  of  the  remark. 

"But  if  you  are?"  demanded  my  inquisitor,  with 
a  rude  persistence  that  caused  Lady  Muriel  to  turn 
and  look  at  him,  and  Lord  Alphington  to  elevate  his 
patrician  brows. 

"In  that  case  I  shall  probably  be  found  at  the 
Savoy  Hotel ;  I  have  no  permanent  residence  at  pres- 
ent," was  my  answer,  uttered  in  the  full  knowledge 
that  it  must  have  sounded  odd,  and  that  had  I  been 
there  otherwise  than  as  the  preserver  of  my  beautiful 
young  hostess  I  should  have  been  regarded  as  an 
undesirable  acquaintance.  As  it  was,  my  privilege 
saved  me  from  any  overt  unpleasantness  of  the  kind, 
except  that  Garden,  who  had  leaned  forward  to  ques- 
tion me,  sat  back  now,  bolt  upright,  and  looked  hard 
at  me  before  going  on  with  his  dinner. 

It  mattered  not  one  jot  to  me,  but  socially  I  must 
have  seemed  a  dismal  failure  to  Lord  Alphington 
and  his  daughter,  and  I  have  no  doubt  that  they  were 
making  notes  to  that  effect,  while,  minute  by  minute, 
the  time  drew  near  for  me  to  face  the  crisis  of  the 
evening.  That  crisis  came  all  too  quickly  with  the 
rising  of  Lady  Muriel,  who,  as  she  left  the  dining- 
room,  flung  back  to  us  the  laughing  command  not  to 
leave  her  alone  too  long. 

When  we  drew  together  over  the  decanters,  the 
butler  and  footman  having  departed,  our  disposition 
at  the  table  was  thus:  I  sat  on  Lord  Alphington 's 
right,  Garden  on  his  left,  and  Herzog  on  Garden's 
left,  with  a  long  gap  between  him  and  me.  The 
result  was  that  my  actions  could  not  be  closely 


146  MILLIONS  OF  MISCHIEF 

watched  by  Garden,  but  that  Herzog,  who  was  nearly 
opposite  to  me  at  the  small  round  table,  had  me  en- 
tirely under  his  observation. 

The  arrangement  suited  me  admirably,  for  it  miti- 
gated a  danger  which  had  been  entirely  unforeseen 
when  I  entered  the  house.  I  had  not  expected  to 
meet  there  a  man  who  suspected  my  identity  as  Car- 
den  evidently  did,  and  whose  suspicions  would  almost 
certainly  become  open  denunciation  if  he  saw  what  I 
was  about  to  do.  It  was  a  relief,  therefore,  to  have 
Garden  so  placed  that,  with  the  Premier  between  us, 
I  was  comparatively  hidden  from  him.  As  for  Her- 
zog, I  asked  for  nothing  better  than  that  he  should 
note  my  every  action. 

Lord  Alphington  passed  the  wine  and  pushed  a 
couple  of  cigar  boxes  about,  making  conversation  the 
while  with  the  cheerful  air  of  one  who  is  performing 
a  duty  that  will  soon  be  over.  He  was  glad,  no 
doubt,  that  I  had  saved  his  daughter  from  drowning, 
and  was  honestly  anxious  to  be  civil  to  me,  but  he 
would  have  found  the  process  more  congenial  if  I 
had  been— well,  not  preoccupied  with  the  necessity 
of  prolonging  my  life  by  squirting  something  into 
his  glass. 

The  opportunity  arrived  when,  having  helped  him- 
self, he  turned  slightly  to  Garden  to  pass  the  decanter, 
at  the  same  time  asking  his  young  relative's  opinion 
of  the  wine.  I  had  already  removed  the  lid  of  the 
pill-box  in  my  pocket,  and  now,  quickly  withdrawing 
the  rubber  tube,  I  stretched  out  the  hand  in  which  I 
held  it  concealed,  as  though  to  take  a  pear  from  a 
dish  in  the  center  of  the  table.  In  doing  so  my  hand 


It  Will  Be  Safer  in  My  Possession." 

(Page  147) 


SLEIGHT  OF  HAND  147 

traveled  directly  over  my  host's  glass,  and  during  its 
passage  I  squeezed  the  bulb,  meeting  Herzog  's  inscru- 
table gaze  as  I  did  so. 

The  next  moment  Herzog 's  face  went  ashy  gray. 
By  some  nervous  mischance  I  dropped  the  murderous 
contrivance  into  the  dish  of  fruit.  I  made  a  frantic 
effort  to  recover  it,  but  Garden  forestalled  me.  His 
hand  shot  out  and  his  sinewy  fingers  closed  on  the 
syringe  while  I  was  still  fumbling.  He  began  to  ex- 
amine it  keenly,  but  Herzog  had  managed  to  pull 
himself  together. 

"I  will  trouble  you  to  hand  me  that  little  instru- 
ment, Mr.  Garden,  please, ' '  he  said,  with  cool  delibera- 
tion. "It  will  be  safer  in  my  possession  than  in  Mr. 
Martin's.  He  will  be  the  first  to  thank  me  for  re- 
lieving him  of  it,  for  it  is  my  duty,  undertaken  at  his 
own  request,  to  see  that  he  does  not  indulge  in  a 
certain  small  failing  of  his." 

Looking  puzzled,  Garden  reluctantly  complied  with 
the  demand.  Lord  Alphington,  hospitably  sorry  that 
a  guest  should  be  so  branded  as  a  narco-maniac,  cov- 
ered my  confusion  with  a  series  of  grunts,  and  then 
sought  consolation  for  the  contretemps  by  draining 
his  glass  to  the  dregs. 


CHAPTER  XIX 

AN  UNWITTING  CHAMPION 

|EVER  during  my  enforced  association  with 
him  had  I  greater  cause  to  wonder  at  Her- 
zog's  power  of  control  than  in  the  moments 
following  Lord  Alphington's  draught  of 
wine.  He  had  told  me  that  the  atropine  was  nearly 
instantaneous  in  its  fatal  effects,  but  there  was  noth- 
ing in  his  demeanor  to  show  that  he  was  in  the  pres- 
ence of  a  man  who  might  be  expected  to  fall  dead. 
On  the  contrary,  he  busied  himself  with  his  almonds 
and  raisins  in  the  detached  manner  of  one  who  has 
had  to  make  himself  disagreeable  from  a  sense  of 
duty. 

My  own  feelings  at  that  juncture,  so  far  as  my 
noble  host  was  concerned,  were  those  of  perfect  com- 
placence— for  the  simple  reason  that  I  knew  that  I 
had  done  him  no  injury.  While  dressing  for  dinner 
I  had  thoroughly  washed  out  the  bulbed  tube,  replac- 
ing the  original  infinitesimal  contents  with  pure  water. 
Hence  my  dismay  when  Herzog  had  asked  to  examine 
the  tube  on  approaching  the  house,  and  my  relief 
when  he  did  not  appear  to  detect  that  I  had  tampered 
with  it.  I  knew  that  I  should  have  to  reckon  with  him 

148 


AN  UNWITTING  CHAMPION  149 

afterward,  but  I  was  fighting  for  my  life  hour  by 
hour  till  Janet's  return,  and  every  minute  gained 
was  of  untold  value. 

I  argued  that  my  terrible  custodian  could  not,  for 
considerations  of  his  own  safety,  reveal  my  identity 
there,  if  he  ever  did  it  directly  at  all.  He  would  have 
to  do  it  in  such  a  way  as  not  to  implicate  himself, 
and  that  could  not  be  so  long  as  he  was  avowedly  my 
companion.  If  he  was  accused  of  nothing  more 
heinous,  he  would  at  least  be  held  guilty  of  aiding 
my  escape  from  prison. 

I  wondered  further  at  his  marvelous  concealment 
of  emotion  when  a  quarter  of  an  hour  had  elapsed 
and  the  Premier  chatted  on,  in  no  way  the  worse  for 
my  bungling  effort  of  jugglery.  Well,  Herzog  would 
take  it  out  of  me  later,  no  doubt,  when  we  had  retired 
from  this  august  but  farcical  entertainment.  In  the 
meanwhile,  my  pretended  compliance  might  have 
gained  time  for  Janet's  success. 

As  I  sat  taking  an  idiotic  part  in  the  perfunctory 
conversation  necessary  for  the  consumption  of  Lord 
Alphington's  usual  modicum  of  port,  I  was  more 
seriously  concerned  with  Ralph  Garden's  attitude. 
There  lay  my  most  imminent  danger.  He  sat  for  the 
most  part  silent,  and  when  he  spoke  at  all  it  was  to 
his  noble  relative  on  some  subject  of  private  interest. 
The  great  man  himself  was  probably  too  bored  to 
notice  the  electrical  tension  among  his  guests,  but  so 
marked  was  Garden's  refusal  to  hold  converse  with 
Herzog  or  myself  that  I  fully  expected  to  spend  that 
night  in  jail  and  to  be  delivered  to  the  hangman  on 
the  morrow. 


150  MILLIONS  OF  MISCHIEF 

Not  even  Herzog's  ingenuity  could  keep  up  the 
masquerade  much  longer,  I  was  assured. 

For  all  my  preparedness  I  could  not  repress  a  start 
when  the  crisis  came,  as  it  did  shortly  after  we  entered 
the  drawing-room.  Lord  Alphington  had  said  good- 
night and  had  retired  to  the  library  on  the  plea  of 
important  business  to  attend  to  with  a  private  secre- 
tary, who  had  just  arrived.  Lady  Muriel  was  chatting 
to  Herzog,  who,  to  my  surprise,  had  put  himself  in 
her  way  on  entering  the  room;  I  was  standing  at  an 
open  French  window,  looking  out  over  the  moonlit 
sea ;  and  before  I  turned  my  back  on  the  room  Garden 
had  been  examining  some  photographs  at  the  table. 

Suddenly  a  light  tap  on  the  shoulder  caused  me 
to  wheel  round  and  face  him.  He  had  quitted  his 
purposeless  occupation  and  had  come  forward  to  set 
at  rest  the  question  that  had  vexed  him.  The  way 
in  which  he  looked  at  me  was  in  itself  an  accusation. 
It  was  difficult  to  believe  that  a  face  so  boyishly 
good-humored  could  have  grown  so  grave  and  stern. 

"I  want  a  word  with  you,"  he  said  peremptorily. 
' '  Shall  it  be  here,  or  shall  we  step  into  the  garden  ? ' ' 

"Here,  by  all  means.  There  is  too  heavy  a  dew 
to  make  it  pleasant  on  the  grass  in  thin  shoes,"  I 
answered  carelessly,  affecting  to  ignore  the  offensive 
intention  of  his  tone. 

"Well,  then,  to  put  it  straight,  I  don't  believe  your 
name  is  Martin, ' '  he  blurted  out.  ' '  I  once  knew  some 
one  exactly  like  you,  who  ought  to  be  in  a  very  differ- 
ent place  from  this.  Carry  your  memory  back  to 
Woolwich  ten  years  ago.  You  are  Arthur — — " 

And  then,  before  he  could  utter  my  name  and  set 


AN  UNWITTING  CHAMPION  151 

me  the  problem  whether  to  lie  or  confess,  Lady 
Muriel 's  clear  voice  rang  out  across  the  room,  uttering 
the  very  word  she  had  arrested  on  his  lips. 

"I  say,  Kalph,"  she  called  to  him,  "you  must  have 
been  at  Woolwich  with  Arthur  Rivington — you  know 
who  I  mean,  the  poor  fellow  who  was  falsely  convicted 
of  murder,  and  escaped  the  other  day  to  America." 

Garden  turned  round  to  her  as  though  some  one 
had  fired  a  pistol  close  to  his  ear.  Herzog  had  moved 
away  from  the  girl,  who  was  standing  in  the  glow  of 
a  softly-shaded  lamp,  and  there  was  nothing  to  sug- 
gest that  the  question  had  been  prompted  by  him. 
In  fact,  the  expression  on  Herzog 's  broad  face  was 
one  of  bewildered  amusement,  but  there  was  always 
this  about  that  face — that  when  it  carried  any  ex- 
pression it  revealed  the  antithesis  of  his  thoughts. 

"Yes,  I  was  at  Woolwich,  for  one  term,  with  Riv- 
ington. What  of  it?"  said  Garden,  without  moving 
away  from  me.  There  was  a  hidden  menace  in  his 
attitude,  as  though  he  were  ready  to  spring  on  me 
and  secure  me  if  occasion  arose. 

"Only  this,  that  I  am  deeply  interested  in  him, 
and  am  convinced  that  he  was  no  more  capable  of 
those  atrocious  crimes  than  I  am  myself,"  Lady 
Muriel  made  answer  firmly.  "I  thought  you  might 
enlighten  me  as  to  what  he  was  like  as  a  youth. ' ' 

Herzog  at  this  point,  as  though  weary  of  a  subject 
that  had  been  threshed  out  in  the  newspapers  and 
settled  by  the  lawyers,  strolled  to  the  table  and  be- 
came engrossed  in  a  book  of  prints. 

"Any  one  would  think  that  you  knew  the  fellow 
yourself,  as  you  espouse  his  cause  so  warmly,"  said 


152  MILLIONS  OF  MISCHIEF 

Garden,  maintaining  his  vigilant  attitude  toward  me. 
"From  the  published  accounts  of  the  trial  I  should 
not  think  there  was  a  shadow  of  a  doubt  about  his 
guilt." 

"I  have  never  seen  Captain  Rivington,  but  I  know 
the  girl  he  was  engaged  to,  and  from  what  she  tells 
me  there  must  have  been  a  grievous  miscarriage  of 
justice, ' '  was  the  reply,  for  which  I  could  have  kissed 
the  hem  of  Lady  Muriel's  pretty  dinner  dress.  It 
was  like  balm  to  an  open  wound— that  first  word  of 
human  sympathy,  except  Janet's,  that  had  come  to 
me  since  my  arrest. 

"They  don't  make  such  mistakes  in  courts  of  jus- 
tice nowadays,"  said  Kalph  Garden,  a  little  doubt- 
fully. He  was  moved,  I  really  began  to  hope,  by  the 
vigorous  advocacy  of  the  woman  he  loved. 

' '  I  shouldn  't  like  to  think,  Ralph,  that  you  were  as 
uncharitable  as  Mr.  Marske ;  he  won 't  listen  to  a  word 
on  Captain  Rivington 's  behalf, ' '  my  fair  young  cham- 
pion went  on  hotly.  "For  myself,  I  cannot  and  will 
not  believe  that  a  bad  man  could  have  inspired  such 
tender  trust  and  unshaken  love  as  Ja— I  mean,  my 
friend,  has  for  that  unfortunate.  But  you  have  not 
told  me  what  sort  of  a  fellow  Rivington  was  at  Wool- 
wich?" 

Garden  had,  perhaps  unconsciously,  relaxed  his 
close  watch  on  me  at  the  mention  of  Roger  Marske. 
His  rival's  view  of  the  case  seemed  to  demand  op- 
position, even  at  the  sacrifice  of  common  sense  and 
preconceived  opinions,  and  the  admission  he  now 
made  showed  that  he  might  range  himself  in  my  camp 
after  all. 


AN  UNWITTING  CHAMPION  153 

"I  shouldn't  like  to  be  unfair  to  the  chap,"  he 
said  more  gently.  "He  was  a  goodish  bit  older  than 
me,  and  left  the  Academy  shortly  after  I  joined,  but 
I  remember  that  he  was  kind  toward  the  youngsters, 
and  an  all-round  sportsman  at  football  and  cricket." 

"There!  that  bears  out  what  my  friend  says," 
cried  Lady  Muriel  triumphantly.  "Does  your  de- 
scription tally  with  that  of  a  man  who  would  kill  his 
mother  and  sister  for  gain?  A  hundred  times  no, 
and  I  shall  be  ashamed  of  you,  Ralph,  if  you  don't 
take  my  side  about  him  when  Mr.  Marske  returns. ' ' 

Garden  colored  slightly  and  shot  a  glance  at  me, 
which  he  instantly  averted  when  he  saw  how  I  was 
hanging  upon  his  answer.  "We  will  see  about  that," 
he  laughed  constrainedly.  "Not  that  either  your 
championship  or  mine  is  likely  to  do  Rivington  any 
good,  especially  as  he  has  got  away  to  America,  but 
I'll  go  so  far  as  this— I  hope  they  won't  catch  him. 
Now  sing  us  something,  Muriel,  and  forget  all  these 
horrors. ' ' 

As  though  to  give  effect  to  his  dismissal  of  the  sub- 
ject he  started  to  saunter  to  the  piano,  but  I  followed, 
and,  touching  him  on  the  arm,  said  in  a  low  tone: 
"When  Lady  Muriel  interrupted  us  the  discussion 
which  you  had  invited  was  reaching  rather  an  inter- 
esting point.  Hadn't  you  better  continue  it?" 

He  swung  round  and  faced  me  fairly.  I  detected 
no  apology,  but  a  trace  of  pity  in  the  frank  eyes. 

"Would  it  serve  any  useful  purpose?"  he  said. 

"You  are  the  best  judge  of  that.  You  sought  and 
raised  a  question  as  to  the  name  I  bear,"  I  persisted. 

His  hand  went  to  his   fair  mustache,  he   looked 


154  MILLIONS  OF  MISCHIEF 

down  at  the  carpet,  raised  his  face  to  mine  again, 
and  said  diffidently:  "A  question  can  be  waived,  I 
suppose,  Mr.  Martin.  Let  us  leave  it  at  that." 

With  which  he  strode  off  to  the  piano,  and  while 
he  arranged  Lady  Muriel's  music,  I  was  free  to  draw 
a  long  breath  over  yet  another  reprieve.  But  a 
movement  near  the  table  turned  my  attention  to 
Herzog,  who  had  remained  stooping  over  the  prints 
during— could  I  hope  it  was  so?— Ralph  Garden's 
conversion. 

Herzog  was  straightening  himself  from  his  stoop- 
ing posture,  at  the  same  time  rubbing  his  large  hands 
softly  together,  while  every  feature  of  his  broad  coun- 
tenance expressed  satisfaction.  The  sight  of  him 
plunged  me  back  into  the  depths.  I  guessed  that  his 
wonderful  insight  had  detected  my  danger  from 
recognition  by  Garden,  and  that  it  was  due  to  his  in- 
spiration that  Lady  Muriel  had  intervened  at  the 
psychological  moment.  He  was  aware  of  her  enthusi- 
asm on  the  subject;  a  mere  suggestion  from  him 
would  have  sufficed  to  make  her  question  Garden  in 
the  nick  of  time. 

But  what  depressed  me  was  that  his  could  have 
been  no  kindly  diplomacy.  It  could  only  have  been 
directed  at  saving  his  own  skin,  or  to  enable  me  to 
make  a  fresh  attempt  on  Lord  Alphington's  life— 
probably  at  both. 


CHAPTER  XX 

THE  COLONEL'S  TIDINGS 

ONTRARY  to  my  expectations,  Herzog  made 
no  reference,  on  our  leaving  "Ardmore,"  to 
the  failure  of  the  atropine  tube  to  do  its 
deadly  work.  Nor,  when  he  did  mention  the 
matter  as  we  were  seated  at  breakfast  next  morning, 
did  he  indulge  in  the  outburst  of  threats  and  re- 
proaches that  I  had  anticipated. 

"Rather  a  warm  time  last  night— what  with  one 
thing  and  another,"  he  remarked,  sipping  his  coffee 
and  eyeing  me  askance. 

"I  knew  as  soon  as  Garden  saw  me  that  I  was 
recognized ;  and  so,  I  think,  did  you, ' '  I  replied. 

"Yes,  and  took  steps,  as  you  may  have  observed, 
to  stifle  the  explosion  by  exciting  Lady  Muriel's  ar- 
dor at  the  proper  moment,"  said  Herzog.  "Garden 
was  on  the  point  of  denouncing  you,  was  he  not? 
Well,  my  timely  hint  to  that  charming  girl  that  he 
must  have  been  acquainted  with  the  notorious  fugi- 
tive set  her  going  with  a  vengeance,  eh?" 

"It  was  very  adroit,"  I  was  fain  to  admit.  Re- 
bellious as  I  felt  at  being  the  catspaw  of  this  scoun- 
drel, it  was  impossible  not  to  appreciate  the  clever- 

155 


156  MILLIONS  OF  MISCHIEF 

ness  of  his  shifts  and  expedients,  and,  after  all,  vile 
though  his  motive  was,  they  were  the  only  bulwarks 
between  me  and  the  scaffold— till  Janet  came  back 
victorious. 

"Adroit!"  he  repeated,  chuckling.  "That  is  more 
than  you  were,  my  friend.  If  by  good  fortune  some- 
thing hadn't  gone  wrong  with  the  drug  or  the  syringe, 
your  awkwardness  in  dropping  it  would  have  created 
a  serious  situation  for  both  of  us.  And  I  have  never 
intended  that  our  risks  in  this  partnership  should  be 
equally  balanced,  you  see." 

I  said  nothing,  but  I  was  inwardly  astonished  that 
he  made  no  charge  against  me  of  having  withdrawn 
the  poison  from  the  tube.  I  could  only  attribute  my 
immunity  to  his  genuine  relief  that  my  treachery  to 
him  had  been  the  means  of  saving  him. 

And  then,  after  a  pause,  he  spoke  again,  but  his 
mood  had  changed  from  almost  genial  banter  to  sav- 
age cynicism.  "See  here,  let  us  understand  each 
other,"  he  said,  tapping  his  saucer  with  the  spoon  to 
punctuate  his  words.  "With  so  many  ardent  female 
champions  you  are  beginning  to  believe  that  you  are" 
really  an  innocent,  ill-used  individual,  eh?" 

"I  pleaded  'Not  Guilty'  at  my  trial,  and  I  have 
never  taken  that  back,"  I  said,  with  appropriate 
vagueness,  for  I  dared  not  exasperate  him  with  open 
defiance.  But,  my  Heaven!  how  I  looked  forward 
to  doing  so  when  Janet  had  run  "Danvers  Crane"  to 
ground. 

Herzog  pushed  his  plate  away,  and,  rising,  lit  a 
cigar,  frowning  at  me  the  while.  Never  yet  since 
our  first  meeting  at  the  obscure  hotel  at  Southampton 


THE  COLONEL'S  TIDINGS  157 

had  he  displayed  such  open  hostility  to  me,  and  never, 
strangely  enough,  had  he  shown  greater  indifference 
to  the  deadly  design  which  was  the  sole  reason  of  our 
being  together.  Not  a  word  about  any  fresh  attempt 
on  Lord  Alphington;  not  a  word  about  handing  me 
over  to  justice;  only  a  gibe  and  a  scowl.  The  man 
had  no  nerves,  but  he  was  evidently  irritated.  He 
seemed  to  have  lost  his  grip  somehow. 

He  walked  to  the  window,  puffing  moodily  at  his 
cigar,  till  his  attention  was  attracted  by  a  telegraph 
messenger  coming  up  the  garden  path.  Muttering 
an  exclamation,  he  went  out  to  meet  the  boy  at  the 
front  door,  but  almost  immediately  returned,  looking 
blacker  than  ever. 

"The  wire  is  for  Colonel  Chilmark,"  he  said. 
"Probably  from  his  daughter  to  say  that  she  is  re- 
turning. ' ' 

As  he  made  the  apparently  trivial  announcement 
that  basilisk  gaze  of  his  tried  to  pierce  my  inmost 
thoughts,  causing  a  recurrence  of  the  never-satisfied 
fear  that  he  had  divined  my  connection  with  Janet. 

"Was  Colonel  Chilmark  expecting  his  daughter?" 
I  asked  with  what  carelessness  I  could  command. 

Herzog  laughed  his  harshest.  "People  who  stay 
at  home  are  always  expecting  people  who  are  away," 
was  his  enigmatic  reply.  And  he  added,  with  a  sud- 
den gust  of  impatience:  "What  do  I  know  or  care 
about  these  Chilmarks?" 

The  contents  of  the  to  me  all-absorbing  telegram 
were  revealed  sooner  than  I  could  have  hoped  by 
Mrs.  Krance,  when  she  bustled  in  to  remove  the 
breakfast  things.  She  had  just  performed  the  same 


158  MILLIONS  OF  MISCHIEF 

office  in  the  sitting-room  across  the  passage,  and,  after 
the  manner  of  landladies,  she  proceeded  to  enlarge 
upon  the  affairs  of  the  other  lodgers. 

The  Colonel,  by  her  showing,  had  just  received  a 
telegram  from  his  daughter,  informing  him  that  as 
the  house  she  had  been  to  look  at  near  Harrow  would 
not  suit  their  requirements,  she  proposed  to  remain 
in  London  for  a  day  or  two  longer  in  order  to  view 
other  houses  within  easy  distance  of  town.  As  she 
would  be  very  busy  moving  from  place  to  place,  as 
the  house-agents  might  direct,  her  father  was  not  to 
look  for  letters,  but  she  would  wire  each  day  before 
starting  on  her  search,  so  that  he  might  know  that 
she  was  all  right. 

I  had  much  ado  to  compose  my  face  while  Mrs. 
Krance  prattled  out  this  expanded  version  of  the 
telegram.  It  was  at  once  a  relief  and  a  disappoint- 
ment. It  showed  that  Janet  had  not  come  to  any 
harm  at  the  hands  of  Roger  Marske,  but  it  also 
pointed  to  her  having  so  far  failed  in  her  effort  to 
prove  that  he  was  the  "Danvers  Crane"  of  my  sister's 
acquaintance.  Reading  between  the  lines,  I  discarded 
her  prolonged  house-hunt  as  a  mere  pretext  for  stay- 
ing in  London  in  the  hope  of  meeting  with  better  suc- 
cess. It  might  even  be  that  she  had  struck  a  clue 
which  she  was  following  up. 

Feeling,  or,  as  I  half  feared,  affecting  to  feel,  no 
interest  in  Mrs.  Krance 's  gossip,  Herzog  cut  short 
her  dissertation  on  the  Colonel's  loneliness,  and  pro- 
posed that  we  should  go  sight-seeing  to  Carisbrook 
Castle,  and  on  the  return  journey  leave  the  train  at 
Yarmouth  and  come  round  to  Totland  Bay  by  the 


THE  COLONEL'S  TIDINGS  159 

afternoon  boat,  calling  there  on  its  way  from  Lyming- 
ton.  As  he  was  not  the  man  to  take  an  academic 
interest  in  historic  ruins,  I  suspected  that  he  had 
some  reason  for  being  out  of  the  place  that  day. 
Probably  he  did  not  wish  to  meet  Lady  Muriel  or 
Ralph  Garden.  It  was  all  one  to  me  where  I  went, 
now  that  Janet  had  been  heard  of,  and  I  gave  a  per- 
functory assent. 

From  the  moment  of  our  starting  to  walk  across 
the  fields  to  Freshwater  station,  Herzog's  mood 
changed  to  the  airy  philosopher's  vein,  characteristic 
of  his  lighter  phase.  He  was  the  busy  man  out  for  a 
holiday  again,  determined  to  forget  all  preoccupa- 
tions in  the  joy  of  fine  weather,  beautiful  scenery, 
and  nothing  to  do.  Occasionally,  during  that  brief 
lull  in  our  drama,  while  we  were,  so  to  speak,  off  the 
stage,  he  almost  degenerated  into  the  cheapest  of 
cheap  trippers  in  the  exuberance  of  his  spirits.  I 
was  not  deceived  by  all  this.  Five  days  in  his  com- 
pany had  taught  me  that  when  his  sun  appeared  to 
be  in  the  zenith  there  were  storm  clouds  lurking  on 
the  horizon. 

We  "did"  the  ancient  Castle  in  true  tourist  style, 
and  I  could  imagine  the  sensations  of  the  other  tour- 
ists, who  shared  with  us  the  voluble  guide's  descrip- 
tion of  the  ill-fated  monarch's  attempt  to  squeeze 
through  the  bars  of  his  prison  window,  if  they  had 
been  told  that  the  quiet  listener  rubbing  shoulders 
with  them  had  himself  broken  jail  within  the  week. 
We  inspected  the  donkey  that  works  the  treadmill  over 
the  well,  visited  the  bowling  green,  climbed  the  crum- 
bling keep,  and  then  jolted  back  over  the  cruel  island 


160  MILLIONS  OF  MISCHIEF 

railway  as  far  as  Yarmouth,  where,  according  to 
Herzog's  programme,  we  left  the  train  and  sought 
the  pier. 

We  had  not  much  time  to  spare,  for  the  steamer 
was  already  alongside,  discharging  such  of  her  pas- 
sengers as  were  bound  for  Yarmouth  and  Freshwater. 
Those  remaining  on  board  to  proceed  to  Totland  were 
a  comparatively  small  number,  so  that  every  one  of 
them  was  visible  to  us  as  we  took  our  places  on  the 
bridge  deck.  In  those  sad  days  the  haunting  dread 
of  recognition  had  grown  to  be  such  a  habit  with  me 
that  I  instinctively  scanned  our  fellow  passengers  in 
detail.  The  last  to  come  under  my  nervous  scrutiny 
was  Koger  Marske,  leaning  with  his  back  to  us  over 
the  stern  railing. 

Herzog  must  have  perceived  him  at  the  same  mo- 
ment, for  he  nudged  my  elbow  and  whispered: 

"Let  us  go  down  into  the  bar.  I  am  not  sure  of 
that  fellow's  attitude.  He  probably  saw  us  come 
aboard,  but  the  further  we  are  from  him  the  better. ' ' 

I  had  no  doubt  in  my  own  mind  that  Marske 's 
attitude  toward  myself  was  a  hostile  one.  His  con- 
duct when  he  shadowed  us  to  the  Branksome  pine 
woods,  and  was  so  unaccountably  quieted  by  Herzog, 
had  been  an  open  declaration,  but  just  now  anything 
he  might  do  or  say  to  my  detriment  was  a  minor  con- 
sideration with  me.  I  was  more  glad  to  see  him,  there 
on  the  steamer,  than  if  he  had  been  my  dearest  friend. 
His  presence  on  the  boat  was  the  second  relief  of  my 
anxiety  about  Janet  that  I  had  experienced  that  day. 
He  must  have  quitted  London  to  return  to  the  Isle 
of  Wight  a  few  hours  after  the  telegram  to  her  father 


THE  COLONEL'S  TIDINGS  161 

had  been  dispatched,  the  deduction  being  that,  if  he 
had  tried,  he  had  failed  to  molest  her,  and  that  she 
was  now  pursuing  her  quest  free  from  all  danger  of 
interference  from  that  quarter. 

So  struck  was  I  by  Herzog's  change  from  the  bold 
front  he  had  shown  to  Marske  at  our  recent  encoun- 
ter, that  when  we  were  below  I  could  not  refrain  from 
mentioning  it.  Instead  of  resenting  my  remark,  as  I 
had  expected,  he  regarded  me  quite  benevolently. 

"This  business,  my  friend,  is  teaching  me  what  I 
had  never  thought  to  own— that  I  am  not  infallible," 
he  said.  "There  is  something  going  on  that  I  do  not 
understand,  and  had  not  provided  for,  and  Mr.  Roger 
Marske  is  at  the  bottom  of  it." 

He  was  lighting  one  of  his  never-failing  cigars  as 
he  concluded  his  sentence,  and  he  paused,  with  the 
match  flickering  out,  to  shoot  an  unspoken,  and,  it 
seemed,  beseeching  question  at  me  from  his  troubled 
eyes.  But  I  met  it  with  blank  indifference.  It  was 
not  for  me  to  make  a  confidant  and  an  ally  of  the 
man  who  had  me  in  the  toils,  for  no  better  reason 
than  that  he  was  at  loggerheads  with  as  great  a 
scoundrel  as  himself. 

If  his  dumb  appeal  was  a  plea  for  enlightenment 
on  the  intervention  of  Janet  and  for  an  explanation 
of  Roger  Marske 's  enmity — well,  he  had  come  to  the 
wrong  source  for  both.  I  was  not  going  to  place  a 
card  in  this  ruthless  player's  hand  simply  to  secure 
his  allegiance  against  Marske,  who  was  not  half  such 
a  load  on  my  back  as  he  was  himself.  My  faith  of 
winning  through  was  pinned  to  Janet  alone,  so  I  an- 
swered him  with  a  shrug,  and  he  answered  it  with 


162  MILLIONS  OF  MISCHIEF 

another.    It  was  almost  like  a  mutual  understanding. 

When  the  steamer  bumped  the  landing-stage  at 
Totland  we  remained  below  till  all  the  passengers  had 
cleared  out,  and  then,  as  we  walked  up  the  pier,  we 
had  the  satisfaction  of  seeing  Roger  Marske's  tall 
form  well  ahead  of  us.  I  was  glad  that  Lady  Muriel 
had  not  come  down  to  meet  him,  for  even  amidst  my 
misery  I  had  found  a  warm  corner  in  my  heart  for 
young  Ralph  Garden's  aspirations,  and  had  I  been 
a  free  agent  I  would  have  done  my  level  best  to  back 
the  boy's  suit. 

But  the  love  affairs  of  Lady  Muriel  and  young 
Garden  were  soon  to  be  driven  out  of  my  head  by 
matters  more  nearly  concerning  myself.  We  had 
reached  our  lodgings  and  entered  our  sitting-room, 
when  Mrs.  Krance,  bristling  with  importance,  fol- 
lowed us  in  and  shut  the  door. 

"A  rare  to-do  yonder,"  she  said,  prodding  her 
finger  toward  Colonel  Chilmark's  apartment.  "He's 
had  a  wire  this  afternoon,  from  the  party  at  whose 
house  Miss  Janet  was  staying,  to  say  as  the  young 
lady  hasn't  been  there  since  yesterday  morning.  She'd 
ordered  dinner  to  be  ready  when  she  should  come 
back  from  the  country  at  night,  but  she  never  came 
back  at  all." 


CHAPTER  XXI 


IN  DEAD  OP  NIGHT 


A 


NY  confirmation  that  I  needed  of  my  suspi- 
cion that  Herzog  had  divined  my  interest  in 
Janet  was  furnished  by  his  demeanor  while 
I  received  the  staggering  blow  contained  in 
Mrs.  Krance's  news.  I  could  feel  that  my  consterna- 
tion was  an  open  book  to  him,  which  he  was  reading 
without  the  slightest  attempt  at  concealment. 
Strangely  enough,  searching  as  was  his  scrutiny  of 
me,  it  had  in  it  rather  pity  than  menace. 

Seeing  that  I  was  capable  of  nothing  but  an  inco- 
herent exclamation,  he  turned  to  the  garrulous  land- 
lady. "I  presume  that  the  Colonel  thinks  that  the 
first  telegram  was  a  bogus  one,  sent  by  some  miscreant 
in  Miss  Chilmark's  name?"  he  said. 

"That's  exactly  what  the  poor  old  gentleman  does 
think,  sir,"  Mrs.  Krance  replied.  "She  may  have 
been  made  away  with,  up  in  that  wicked  town,  and 
then  the  person  that  did  it  sent  the  felegram  to  keep 
the  Colonel  quiet  and  prevent  inquiries  for  some 
days." 

"Humph,  that's  one  way  of  looking  at  it,  but  there 
163 


164  MILLIONS  OF  MISCHIEF 

is  another, ' '  Herzog  grunted,  and  then  he  added,  after 
a  pause:  "See  here,  Mrs.  Krance,  it  is  a  privilege  to 
help  people  who  cannot  help  themselves.  Convey  my 
compliments  to  Colonel  Chilmark,  and  say  that  I  have 
had  some  experience  in  this  kind  of  case,  and  that  I 
shall  be  pleased  to  place  it  at  his  disposal  if  he  would 
like  to  see  me." 

The  landlady  sped  across  the  passage,  and  was  back 
immediately  with  Colonel  Chilmark 's  grateful  com- 
pliments, and  he  would  be  glad  to  avail  himself  of 
"Doctor  Barrables'  "  kind  offer. 

Without  a  word  to  me,  Herzog  left  the  room,  and 
after  a  vain  attempt  to  discuss  the  matter  with  me, 
Mrs.  Krance  also  departed.  Left  alone,  I  had  to 
bring  all  my  manhood  into  play  to  keep  from  break- 
ing down  utterly.  That  Roger  Marske  was  the  author 
of  the  telegram  received  by  Colonel  Chilmark  in  the 
morning  was  to  me  self-evident.  That,  without  hand- 
ing myself  over  to  the  hangman,  I  could  not  make  it 
evident  to  any  one  else  was  my  dilemma.  That 
Marske  had  fallen  foul  of  Janet  on  her  quest,  sent 
the  telegram  to  defer  inquiry,  and  hurried  back  to 
the  Isle  of  Wight  in  order  to  prove  an  alibi  if  neces- 
sary, seemed  beyond  question. 

And  that  Marske  alone  could  have  sent  the  tele- 
gram was  only  too  obvious.  The  author  of  it  was 
aware  of  Janet's  ostensible  reason  for  going  up  to 
London,  and  Marske  had  traveled  up  by  the  same 
train,  doubtless  meeting  her  on  the  way  and  hearing 
from  her  the  only  explanation  of  her  journey  which 
to  him  of  all  people  in  the  world  she  would  be  able 
to  furnish.  If  she  had  fallen  into  the  clutches  of  any 


IN  DEAD  OF  NIGHT  165 

chance  bird  of  prey,  bent  on  vulgar  robbery,  or  worse, 
there  would  have  been  no  such  intimate  knowledge  of 
her  affairs  as  was  disclosed  in  the  morning  telegram. 
To  me  it  all  seemed  as  clear  as  noonday— that  she  had 
followed  a  hot  scent  after  "Danvers  Crane,"  which 
had  led  her  into  the  power  of  the  man  who  had  used 
that  alias  during  his  relations,  whatever  they  may 
have  been,  with  my  unfortunate  sister. 

Yet,  with  this  well-founded  thesis  to  work  from — 
a  clue  which  a  village  policeman  could  not  have 
missed— I  was  powerless  to  move  a  finger,  unless  I 
gave  myself  up  to  justice.  And  if  I  did  that,  well, 
I  knew  that  the  word  of  a  convicted  and  escaped  felon 
would  not  weigh  for  a  single  instant  against  that  of  a 
man  in  Marske's  position— the  son  of  the  Chancellor 
of  the  Exchequer  and  the  guest  of  the  Prime  Minis- 
ter. My  story  would  be  set  down  at  once  as  an  impu- 
dent fabrication,  without  even  the  recommendation 
of  being  plausible;  besides  which,  as  the  day  fixed 
for  my  execution  was  already  past,  it  was  very  doubt- 
ful if  I  should  get  a  chance  to  tell  my  story  to  any 
one  in  authority.  As  a  condemned  prisoner  I  was 
already  dead  in  the  eyes  of  the  law,  and  I  should  go 
straight  to  my  doom  without  a  hearing.  No,  the  he- 
roic course  would  be  to  wipe  myself  out  of  existence, 
and  to  leave  Janet  at  the  mercy  of  her  enemy — if  she 
was  still  alive. 

An  appeal  to  my  kind  sympathizer,  Lady  Muriel, 
would  fare  no  better,  for  with  all  the  will  in  the  world 
she  would  be  impotent  to  help  me,  unless  she  could 
show  grounds  for  suspecting  Roger  Marske,  and  that 
she  could  not  do  unless  I  could  be  produced  as  her 


166  MILLIONS  OF  MISCHIEF 

authority.  Thus  again,  in  the  absence  of  any  light 
Janet  might  have  thrown  on  the  matter,  there  would 
be  nothing  but  the  unsupported  accusation  of  a  con- 
demned convict  against  a  highly-placed  gentleman  to 
trust  to— the  same  broken  reed  as  if  I  gave  myself  up 
directly. 

I  could  see  no  way  out  of  it.  Despair,  for  myself 
a  little,  for  the  girl  who  had  gone  forth  to  fight  for 
me,  a  whole  ocean,  hedged  me  in  on  every  side.  I  was 
wishing  myself  dead,  when  the  now  familiar  face  of 
the  telegraph  boy  appeared  at  the  garden  gate.  A 
minute  later  Mrs.  Krance  entered  with  a  message  for 
Herzog,  and  she  had  hardly  retired  when  the  owner 
hurried  in  and  tore  it  open. 

As  he  read  he  drew  a  long  breath,  and  as  he  re-read 
the  telegram  he  expelled  the  draught  of  air  from  his 
lungs  as  though  he  were  ridding  himself  of  a  nausea. 
From  the  brief  time  he  took  over  the  perusal  I  guessed 
that  the  message,  unlike  the  others  which  he  had  been 
receiving,  was  not  in  cipher.  In  his  treatment  of  it, 
too,  I  noticed  a  difference.  The  cipher  telegrams  he 
had  instantly  destroyed  by  tearing  them  into  infini- 
tesimal fragments  or  burning  them  in  the  grate.  This 
one  he  carefully  folded  and  put  away  in  his  pocket- 
book. 

Then,  without  any  reference  to  it,  he  looked  up  at 
me,  his  broad  features  breaking  into  a  slow,  almost 
paternal  smile.  Heaven,  how  I  hated  him ! 

"I  have  been  comforting  the  Colonel,"  he  said,  in 
his  most  cynical  tone.  "Let  me  also  comfort  you,  my 
friend.  I  have  been  telling  him  that  young  ladies 
who  wish  to  prolong  their — shall  we  call  them — holi- 


IN  DEAD  OF  NIGHT  167 

days,  are  sometimes  driven  to  strange  shifts  and  ex- 
pedients. In  short,  I  pointed  out  to  him  that,  far 
from  having  met  with  some  disaster,  his  daughter 
might  very  well  have  sent  that  first  telegram  herself, 
having  good  reason  for  not  returning  to  sleep  last 
night  at  the  house  of  the  old  servant  with  whom  she 
was  to  stay.  She  might,  for  instance,  though  I  did 
not  moot  this  to  the  Colonel,  be  engaged  in  trying  to 
pull  chestnuts  out  of  a  very  hot  fire  for  a  sweetheart 
unable  to  perform  the  operation  for  himself." 

"You  devil!"  I  snarled,  guessing  that  his  im- 
promptu kindness  had  had  for  its  object  the  pumping 
of  the  Colonel. 

Herzog  continued  to  smile.  "You  are  rude,"  he 
said,  ' '  for  a  man  who  ought  to  have  been  hanged  the 
day  before  yesterday.  Yes,  I  comforted  that  invalid 
warrior,  and  I  would  have  you  also  take  comfort, 
my  gallant  captain,  for  I  know  that  your  trouble  is 
the  same.  After  a  little  discursive  talk,  the  Colonel 
cleared  up  a  point  that  had  been  puzzling  me  by  ad- 
mitting that  Miss  Janet  knew  the  notorious  Riving- 
ton  slightly— is  it  not  right  to  emphasize  that  word, 
my  friend?" 

"You  must  make  what  use  you  choose  of  your 
cunningly-gained  discovery,  but  expect  no  informa- 
tion from  me,"  I  replied  sullenly. 

He  looked  as  though  intending  to  make  an  angry 
retort,  but  checked  whatever  he  had  been  about  to 
say,  and  remained  silent  for  the  rest  of  the  evening, 
smoking,  and  evidently  thinking  deeply.  Even  in 
my  sore  distress  about  Janet,  I  derived  some  amuse- 
ment from  his  knitted  brows  and  impatient  ejacula- 


168  MILLIONS  OF  MISCHIEF 

tions,  which  I  attributed,  quite  erroneously  as  I  was 
to  learn  later,  to  his  sudden  discovery  that  I  was  an 
innocent  man,  and  therefore  useless  to  him  as  an  as- 
sassin. The  problem  perplexing  him  touched  me 
more  nearly,  and  if  I  had  only  known  it  I  should  have 
done  better  by  helping  him  to  a  solution. 

It  was  only  as  we  lit  our  candles  to  go  upstairs  that 
he  flung  at  me  the  remark:  "You  will  have  cause 
to  regret  your  reticence  before  many  hours  are  over, 
Rivington." 

"You  mean  that  because  you  have  found  out  there 
is  an  honest  girl  who  believes  in  me,  your  plot  against 
the  Premier  stands  revealed  as  hopeless,  and  that  you 
will  therefore  have  me  recaptured?"  I  retorted. 

But  he  shook  his  head  almost  sadly.  "I  cannot 
tell  you  whence  your  danger  will  spring— for  the 
good  reason  that  as  yet  I  do  not  know,"  he  answered. 
"Not  from  me,  for  in  that  case  I  should  fall  with 
you.  This  case  has  been  a  surprise  packet  all  along, 
but  I  have  not  given  up  hope  yet." 

Hope  of  what,  in  all  conscience?  I  wondered,  as  I 
undressed  and  prepared  for  a  night  of  wakeful  un- 
rest. Hope  that,  guiltless  though  I  was  of  previous 
crime,  I  should  fulfil  the  dreadful  mission  for  which 
I  had  been  released  rather  than  be  hanged?  If  so  he 
would  be  grievously  disappointed.  Or  could  he  mean 
that  he  hoped  to  save  himself  from  the  consequences 
of  association  with  me  during  that  fateful  week?  I 
could  not  tell,  but  as  I  flung  myself  on  the  bed  I 
groaned  in  spirit  at  the  thought  that  whatever  hope 
there  might  be  for  him  there  was  not  a  single  ray 
for  me. 


IN  DEAD  OF  NIGHT  169 

It  had  begun  to  rain  heavily  during  the  evening, 
and  now  the  wind  rose,  raising  a  swell  on  the  beach 
that  broke  with  a  rhythmical  cadence  which  would 
have  lulled  me  to  sleep  at  any  other  time.  As  it  was, 
the  wild  voice  of  nature,  the  drip  from  the  sycamores 
in  the  garden,  the  steadily  increasing  thunder  of  the 
waves,  and  the  sob  of  the  westerly  gale,  braced  my 
senses  to  unusual  alertness.  I  had  left  my  window 
open,  and  so  gained  the  full  effect  of  the  storm. 

Lying  wide  awake  on  the  bed,  I  was  watching  the 
ragged  clouds  chase  each  other  across  the  angry  sky, 
when  suddenly  the  lower  half  of  the  open  window 
was  darkened  by  the  shape  of  a  human  head.  I  re- 
mained perfectly  still,  staring  at  the  motionless  head 
and  wondering  grimly  if  after  all  this  was  the  kind 
of  danger  Herzog  had  prophesied  for  me.  If  so,  it 
was  a  welcome  change  from  the  anticipated  knock  at 
the  front  door  by  a  posse  of  policemen. 

For  upward  of  two  minutes  the  head  remained  as 
still  as  I  did,  and  then  it  began  to  shift  a  little  to  the 
right  and  left.  I  knew  quite  well  what  was  going  on. 
The  owner  of  the  head,  having  satisfied  himself  that 
I  was  asleep,  was  endeavoring  to  locate  my  person 
on  the  bed.  I  could  not  discern  his  features,  because 
they  were  toward  the  darkness  of  the  room,  and  such 
faint  light  as  came  from  the  storm-wracked  sky  was 
behind  him.  He  kept  his  full  face  inwards,  prevent- 
ing me  from  getting  so  much  as  the  effect  of  an  old- 
fashioned  daguerreotype,  which  his  profile  would 
have  yielded. 

This  was  not  the  arm  of  the  law,  but  some  one  who 
wanted  to  murder  me,  and  whom  I  should  be  justified 


170  MILLIONS  OF  MISCHIEF 

in  throttling,  I  told  myself  with  a  suppressed  joy 
that  glowed  through  my  veins.  I  knew  then  how 
fiercely  I  had  wanted  to  strangle  some  one— Herzog 
for  choice— all  the  evening,  and  it  was  with  savage 
anticipation  that  I  watched  the  head  desist  from  its 
focusing  movements  and  rise  higher  with  the  clear 
intention  of  creeping  through  the  window.  The 
plash  of  the  rain  and  the  howling  of  the  wind  drowned 
any  sound  the  intruder  might  have  made,  giving  the 
impression  of  something  sinuous  and  snakelike  creep- 
ing in  on  me  as  one  long  leg  was  lifted  over  the  sill. 

I  waited  breathless,  ready  to  spring,  and  then  the 
door  of  my  room  opened  with  a  jerk,  and  a  shaft  of 
light  from  a  bull's-eye  lantern,  held  by  Herzog,  fell 
full  on  the  face  of  my  nocturnal  visitant.  It  was  the 
face  of  Roger  Marske. 


CHAPTER  XXII 

A  STEANGE  ALLIANCE 

T  was  but  a  fleeting  vision  that  we  had  of 
Roger  Marske,  for  no  sooner  did  the  ray 
from  Herzog 's  lantern  fall  upon  him  than 
he  ducked  down  and  disappeared.  It  lasted 
long  enough,  however,  to  explain  the  purpose  of  his 
midnight  visit,  for  in  his  mouth,  carried  there  doubt- 
less to  free  his  hands  for  the  climb,  was  a  long  dag- 
ger or  bowie  knife. 

I  joined  Herzog  as  he  strode  to  the  window,  and 
peered  down  into  the  gloom,  but  of  the  intruder  there 
was  no  sign.  He  had  completely  vanished,  and  was 
presumably  making  his  way  through  the  shrubs  back 
to  the  grounds  of  "Ardmore." 

' '  Humph !  Clambered  up  by  that  Virginia  creeper, ' ' 
said  Herzog,  shutting  his  window  and  proceecjing  to 
light  the  candle  on  the  dressing-table.  "I  think  you 
owe  me  thanks,  my  friend." 

I  hated  to  be  beholden  to  him,  so  I  answered  sur- 
lily enough  that  I  should  not  have  been  taken  by  sur- 
prise, as  I  had  been  wide  awake  and  ready  to  give  a 
good  account  of  myself. 

Herzog  chuckled,  and  I  noticed  now  that  he  seemed 
in  high  good-humor. 

171 


172  MILLIONS  OF  MISCHIEF 

"Well,  well,"  he  said;  "at  any  rate  I  warned  you 
that  you  would  be  in  danger,  and  you  profited  by 
my  advice  to  be  vigilant.  I  was  in  two  minds  whether 
your  peril  would  take  this  form  or  that  of  an  incur- 
sion by  police-officers.  I  am  delighted  that  it  came 
in  the  shape  of  Mr.  Roger  Marske,  for  now  I  can  play 
the  game  with  a  knowledge  of  my  opponent's  cards. 
Just  cast  your  eye  over  this  telegram  that  I  received 
this  evening." 

I  saw  that  it  had  been  handed  in  at  the  Charing 
Cross  post-office  at  six  o'clock,  and,  besides  the  ad- 
dress, contained  only  the  two  words:  "Business  off." 

1 '  That, ' '  proceeded  Herzog,  as  he  carefully  restored 
the  message  to  his  pocket-book,  "refers  to  your  little 
affair,  or  rather  to  what  would  have  been  your  affair 
if  you  had  been  the  truculent  ruffian  you  were  sup- 
posed to  be.  It  is  a  prearranged  signal  informing 
me  that  the  scheme  has  been  abandoned.  Lord  Alph- 
ington's  life  is  no  longer  threatened,  and,  personally, 
I  rejoice,  for  I  am  not  by  nature  a  bloodthirsty  man. 
Now  I  am  going  to  be  perfectly  frank  with  you,  Riv- 
ington,  in  the  hope  of  tempting  you  to  equal  frank- 
ness. That  telegram  was  sent  by,  or  on  behalf  of, 
Sir  Gideon  Marske,  the  Chancellor  of  the  Exchequer, 
and  one  of  my  superiors  in  the  unpleasantness  we 
have  been  engaged  in." 

"Roger  Marske 's  father?"  I  exclaimed,  more  con- 
cerned with  the  intimate  bearing  of  his  revelation 
on  my  own  fate  than  with  the  tremendous  fact  that 
Cabinet  Ministers  should  have  conspired  against  the 
life  of  a  colleague. 

"Ah,  you  begin  to  see  the  connection  of  things," 


A  STRANGE  ALLIANCE  173 

Herzog  said.  "Yes,  if  Roger  Marske  had  not  been 
playing  a  lone  hand,  about  which  you  will,  perhaps, 
enlighten  me  presently,  I  should  have  stood  in  a 
very  different  relation  toward  you  to  what  I  do  at 
this  minute." 

And  depositing  his  heavy  frame  in  one  of  Mrs. 
Krance's  unreliable  chairs,  while  I  sat  on  the  bed, 
he  told  me  the  secret  history  of  his  mission  to  release 
me  in  order  to  assassinate  Lord  Alphington.  How, 
with  the  connivance  of  the  Home  Secretary,  he  had 
worked  the  business  at  the  prison;  how  he  had 
doubted  my  fitness  for  the  job,  almost  from  the  first 
interview  with  me  at  Southampton;  and  how  he  had 
begun  to  scent  an  entirely  unforeseen  combination 
of  private  influences,  the  moment  he  perceived  Lady 
Muriel's  interest  in  the  case  on  the  boat,  the  day 
of  our  arrival  at  Totland.  It  had  not  taken  him  long 
to  specify  Janet  Chilmark  as  the  "friend"  mentioned 
by  Lady  Muriel;  thence  onward  his  aim  had  been, 
not,  as  I  had  believed,  to  turn  me  loose  as  a  savage 
murderer  on  Lord  Alphington,  but  to  trace  out  the 
intricacies  of  Roger  Marske 's  hostility  to  me,  as  evi- 
denced by  his  pitiless  talk  on  the  boat. 

He  told  me,  with  a  fat  wheeze  of  enjoyment,  that 
he  had  arranged  the  excursion  to  Bournemouth  for 
the  express  purpose  of  proving  to  himself  his  sus- 
picion that  Roger  Marske  had  not  only  guessed  my 
identity,  but  had  private  reasons  of  his  own  for  de- 
siring either  my  death  or  recapture. 

"I  had  hard  work  to  keep  him  quiet,  there  in  the 
pine  wood,  and  only  did  it  by  telling  him  the  truth— 
that  your  escape  had  been  contrived  at  the  instance 


174  MILLIONS  OF  MISCHIEF 

of  his  father,  Sir  Gideon,"  said  Herzog.  "I  did  not 
tell  him  that  from  that  moment  my  allegiance  to  that 
sinful  old  statesman  was  broken,  and  that  such  wit 
as  I  possess  was  to  be  devoted  to  paying  off  an  old 
score  against  him." 

"But  what  about  the  atropine  business,  at  which 
I  checkmated  you  the  other  night?"  I  asked.  "That 
didn't  look  like  sparing  Lord  Alphington." 

"Checkmated  me!"  Herzog  sneered  quite  amiably. 
' '  That  was  all  a  harmless  device  for  settling  the  ques- 
tion, upon  which  even  then  I  had  no  certainty,  whether 
you  were  really  meaning  to  kill  his  lordship  or  not. 
When  I  gave  you  the  supposed  fatal  squirt  there  was 
nothing  in  it  but  rose-water.  I  was  compelled  to  use 
a  scent,  so  that  when  I  examined  it  before  going  in 
I  could  readily  ascertain  whether  you  had,  as  I  ex- 
pected you  would,  washed  it  out  and  refilled  the  thing 
with  pure  water.  So  much  for  your  checkmating, 
my  friend." 

I  positively  began  to  admire  his  cunning  on  that 
occasion,  since  it  had  no  baser  object  than  to  give  the 
lie  to  the  murderous  protestations  with  which  I  had 
sought  to  deceive  him. 

"To  return  to  Roger  Marske,"  he  went  on  in  more 
serious  tone.  "My  own  position  toward  the  Marskes, 
father  and  son,  is  this.  Years  ago,  when  I  was  in  the 
Inland  Revenue  service,  I  fell  into  an  error,  of  which 
Sir  Gideon  took  advantage  to  bind  me  to  him  body 
and  soul  as  the  doer  of  any  dirty  work  he  required. 
I  had  no  option.  I  either  had  to  become  his  bond- 
slave or  go  to  hard  labor— an  alternative  for  which 
neither  my  habits  nor  my  figure  are  adapted.  Now 


A  STRANGE  ALLIANCE  175 

Roger  Marske  by  his  conduct  toward  you,  by  his  fol- 
lowing your  friend,  Miss  Chilmark,  to  London,  still 
more  by  his  intention  to  kill  you  to-night,  has  given 
himself  away  as  deeply  implicated  in  your  affair. 
Am  I  right  that  you  and  your  plucky  little  sweetheart 
think  that  he  ought  to  stand  in  your  shoes?" 

Could  I  trust  this  professor  of  chicanery  and  crime 
with  so  much  as  we  knew  of  the  vital  secret  which 
Janet  had  gone  to  try  to  probe?  He  read  the  doubt 
in  my  eyes,  for  he  hastened  to  add : 

"I  think  I  am  your  only  chance,  Rivington,  and 
probably  Miss  Chilmark 's,  too.  If  I  knew  why  she 
went  to  London  I  might  be  able  to  help  you,  and  her, 
too,  poor  girl,  if  Sir  Gideon  Marske  has  allowed  her 
to  live  so  long." 

"Sir  Gideon?  Roger,  you  mean,"  said  I  in  my 
blundering  way.  My  dull  wits  could  not  grasp  on 
the  spur  of  the  moment  where  Sir  Gideon  came  in. 

But  Herzog's  could.  "You  forget  the  telegram  I 
had  from  Sir  Gideon  this  evening,  cancelling  the  plot 
against  the  Prime  Minister,"  he  said.  "That  is  evi- 
dence to  me  that  Sir  Gideon  has  become  suddenly 
aware  of  these  private  complications.  He  can  only 
have  learned  of  them  from  our  friend  of  window- 
scaling  proclivities,  and  whatever  his  information  may 
be,  it  almost  certainly  includes  the  fact  of  your  inno- 
cence. Does  it  also  include  a  knowledge  of  the  guilty  ? ' ' 

He  paused  and  looked  at  me,  but  I  made  no  sign  as 
yet.  Herzog  went  on,  still  more  impressively:  "Take 
my  word  for  it,  Rivington,  that  whatever  is  wrong 
with  Miss  Chilmark,  that  old  man  is  in  it— up  to  the 
hilt.  That  attempt  on  you  to-night  shows  that  they 


176  MILLIONS  OF  MISCHIEF 

have  been  hard  hit  by  the  girl,  and  that  they  want  to 
silence  you  without  recapture  if  possible,  though, 
having  failed  with  the  knife,  they  will  probably  fall 
back  on  the  hangman's  rope  if  we  don't  look  slippy. 
And  if  they  want  to  treat  you  like  that,  what  sort  of 
mercy  is  the  girl  to  hope  for— the  girl  to  whom  I 
figuratively  take  off  my  hat  as  a  fat  old  terrier  might 
do  to  a  smart  little  ferret  that  has  bolted  the  rat  for 
him.  Sir  Gideon  and  Roger  are  my  rats,  Rivington, 
and  they  are  on  the  run,  but  they  will  get  clear  away 
if  you  don't  decide  to  trust  me." 

"You  don't  care  a  tinker's  rap  about  me,  or  about 
Miss  Chilmark,"  I  said  tentatively.  "What's  your 
motive  ? ' ' 

Herzog  waved  the  cigar,  which  he  had  taken  care 
to  light,  slowly  to  and  fro,  admiring  the  gyrations  of 
the  smoke.  "Not  revenge,  my  friend— nothing  so 
crudely  useless  as  that,"  he  smiled  at  me.  "I  am  an 
advocate  for  reciprocity  in  trade.  In  short,  I  want  to 
reverse  the  lever,  and  have  a  pull  over  Sir  Gideon,  that 
is  all;  so  that  I  may  not  be  called  upon  to  assist  in 
assassinating  any  more  Premiers  with  blunt  instru- 
ments. But  if,  in  the  process  of  reversing  the  lever, 
Koger  Marske  gets  hanged  instead  of  you,  I  shall  not 
complain. ' ' 

At  that  I  hesitated  no  longer,  as  I  should  have  done 
had  he  professed  any  but  a  selfish  purpose  in  serving 
me.  The  man  was  a  monster  of  iniquity,  but  his  in- 
terests so  clearly  ran  side  by  side  with  my  own  in 
confounding  the  Marskes,  that  I  judged  it  best  to 
clutch  at  the  only  straw  held  out  to  me.  Moreover, 
he  had  guessed  and  wormed  out  so  much  for  himself 


A  STRANGE  ALLIANCE  177 

that  there  remained  but  little  to  confide  to  him  but 
Janet 's  solution  of  my  poor  sister 's  cryptic  utterance, 
and  our  hope  of  connecting  "Danvers  Crane"  with 
Roger  Marske. 

Herzog  listened  with  increasing  gravity,  noting 
down  the  address  of  Mrs.  Webley  at  Netting  Hill,  and 
of  the  Bloomsbury  lodging-house  where  Janet  was  to 
sleep,  but  he  made  no  comment  till  at  the  close  of  my 
narrative  I  pressed  him  for  his  opinion.  I  was  as 
anxious  for  it,  now  that  we  had  joined  forces,  as 
though  we  had  been  in  the  same  camp  all  along. 

"It  is  impossible  even  to  surmise  what  has  hap- 
pened, ' '  he  replied  thoughtfully,  as  he  flicked  the  ash 
from  his  cigar.  ' '  It  sems  tolerably  certain  that  Roger 
Marske  has  either  been  so  hard  pressed  by  Miss  Chil- 
mark  that  he  had  to  confess  to  Sir  Gideon  and  seek 
his  aid,  or  that  the  old  man  has  nosed  out  the  trouble 
for  himself,  through  the  young  lady's  pursuit  having 
led  her  into  his  neighborhood.  Fortunately  there  is 
good  reason  to  believe  your  devoted  champion  has 
left  us  a  good  clue,  which  ought  to  be  worked  at  once." 

"What  clue?"  I  asked  breathlessly. 

"Mrs.  Webley  should  be  called  on  without  the  loss 
of  a  single  hour.  She  will  be  able  to  say  what  address, 
if  any,  she  gave  to  Miss  Chilmark,  and  if  it  is  any- 
where in  the  district  which  Sir  Gideon  Marske  honors 
with  his  residence,  there  ought  to  be  a  pretty  hot 
scent, ' '  said  Herzog.  ' '  In  any  case,  the  institution  of 
inquiries  round  about  Marske  Hall,  near  Brentwood, 
might  lead  to  discoveries.  It  would  be  quite  natural 
for  me  to  go  there  to  see  that  old  scoundrel  to  report 
to  him;  in  fact,  I  am  rather  surprised  that  the  tele- 


178  MILLIONS  OF  MISCHIEF 

gram  did  not  contain  a  summons  for  me  to  wait  upon 
him.  The  trouble  is  what  to  do  with  you." 

"Do  not  let  any  considerations  about  me  stand  for 
one  single  moment  in  the  way  of  your  finding  Miss 
Chilmark,"  I  urged. 

"But,  my  friend,  it  is  just  that  that  I  must  do  if 
you  are  to  be  of  any  use  to  me, ' '  my  new  ally  replied 
with  a  candor  so  brutal  that  it  was  bound  to  be 
genuine.  "If  you  are  caught  and  hanged  before  I 
can  bring  your  alleged  crime  home  to  Eoger  Marske  I 
shall  never  bring  it  home  to  him.  I  simply  shouldn't 
be  listened  to  if  I  came  with  the  fullest  proof.  Every 
official  nerve  would  be  strained  to  cover  up  such  an 
enormous  miscarriage  of  justice.  I  know,  because  it 
has  been  done  before,  my  friend.  No,  I  must  put 
you  away  somewhere  while  I  go  Marske  hunting; 
and  where  to  put  you,  God  only  knows. ' ' 

"You  think,  that  Roger  Marske  having  failed  to 
finish  me,  they  will,  as  you  said,  substitute  the  rope 
for  the  knife?" 

"Undoubtedly;  and  they  will  take  precious  good 
care  to  effect  your  recapture  in  such  a  way  that  you 
will  be  quickly  spirited  off,  in  fact  will  see  that  you 
don't  have  a  chance  to  open  your  mouth.  They  will 
not,  however,  attempt  to  take  you  till  I  have  cleared 
out.  That  was  the  arrangement  if  the  scheme  broke 
down,  and  they  don't  know  that  I  have  rounded  on 
them  yet.  They  won't  squander  me  by  arresting 
you  in  my  company,  for  they  may  want  me  again. 
But  if  I  left  you  here  at  Mrs.  Krance's  you  would  be 
taken  to-morrow  and  strung  up  the  day  after. ' ' 

"Then,"  I  hazarded,  with  one  of  those  gleams  of 


A  STRANGE  ALLIANCE  179 

reason  which  stupid  people  sometimes  get  at  a  pinch, 
"why  shouldn't  I  lay  up  in  one  of  the  empty  houses 
here  ?  I  have  noticed  several,  and  it  is  too  late  in  the 
season  for  them  to  be  let  to  summer  visitors  now." 

Herzog  jumped  up  and  barely  restrained  himself 
from  waking  the  household  by  slapping  his  fat  thigh 
in  his  excitement.  "My  friend,"  he  wheezed  genially, 
' '  that  is  the  first  lucid  suggestion  you  have  made  since 
our  acquaintance  began.  Get  into  your  clothes,  while 
I  go  and  get  into  mine.  You  must  be  out  of  this  and 
safely  ensconced  before  daylight  breaks." 


A  RISKY  HIDING-PLACE 

Tit        secrecy    of    our    departure    from    Mrs. 
I  Krance's  hospitable  abode  was  aided  by  the 
fury  of  the  storm,  which  drowned  all  other 
sounds  but  its  own.    Luckily  the  front  door 
was  on  the  sheltered  side,  so  that  we  were  able  to  slip 
out  without  admitting  an  inrush  of  wind. 

"Had  you  any  particular  house  in  your  mind?" 
Herzog  asked,  when  we  had  got  clear  of  the  premises 
into  the  rain-whipped  road. 

I  told  him  that  I  had  noticed  a  furnished  house, 
standing  in  its  own  grounds,  beyond  the  green  walk 
on  the  way  to  the  warren.  It  had  the  advantage 
from  my  point  of  view  of  being  some  little  distance 
from  the  populous  parts  of  the  village  in  a  compara- 
tively secluded  position,  and  as  its  garden  in  the  rear 
backed  on  the  edge  of  the  cliff  there  would  be  no  fear 
of  being  surprised  from  that  quarter.  I  should  have 
only  the  front  of  the  house  to  patrol  in  keeping 
watch  for  the  officers  of  the  law. 

"One  of  those  stone  houses,  eh?"  said  Herzog, 
with  swift  comprehension.  "The  very  place  of  all 
others,  provided  no  systematic  search  is  made  for 

180 


A  RISKY  HIDING-PLACE  181 

you  here,  and  I  shall  endeavor  to  prevent  that  by 
drawing  a  herring  across  your  trail.  And  even  if 
they  do  go  in  for  a  house-to-house  visitation,  you 
would  have  a  better  chance  of  a  run  for  it  there  than 
at  this  end.  Come  along,  and  take  cover  if  we  meet 
any  one." 

But  at  two  o'clock  on  such  a  tempestuous  night 
there  was  no  one  abroad  in  that  community  of 
'  pleasure-seekers,  and  we  passed  unmolested  along  the 
deserted  walk,  with  only  the  great  winking  eye  of  the 
revolving  light  at  Hurst  Castle  on  the  mainland  op- 
posite to  watch  our  progress.  Arrived  at  the  house— a 
long,  low,  somewhat  gloomy-looking  structure,  on  its 
landward  side,  since  all  the  best  rooms  faced  the  sea— 
we  naturally  found  the  doors  locked  against  us,  but 
Herzog's  penknife  soon  slipped  a  window  fastening, 
and  we  entered  what  from  the  feel  of  the  furniture 
we  judged  to  be  the  drawing-room.  It  was  as  yet  too 
dark  to  see  anything,  and  Herzog  would  not  risk  light- 
ing so  much  as  a  match. 

"Now  I  must  return  to  'Springthorpe'  before  dawn 
breaks,"  said  my  companion.  "It  will  not  do  for 
that  early  bird,  Mrs.  Krance,  to  find  me  out,  or  the  lies 
I  mean  to  tell  her  about  your  having  left  by  the  first 
boat  when  she  comes  in  with  the  breakfast  things 
will  miss  their  mark.  And,  talking  about  breakfast, 
reminds  me  that  you  mustn't  starve  in  your  lonely 
citadel.  As  soon  as  the  shops  are  open  in  the  morn- 
ing I  shall  buy  a  stock  of  provisions  and  bring  it  along 
before  I  start  for  London  by  the  mid-day  boat. 
So  long." 

With  an  agility  wonderful  in  one  of  his  bulk  he 


182  MILLIONS  OF  MISCHIEF 

swung  himself  through  the  window  and  was  gone, 
leaving  me  to  grope  about  in  the  dark  and  put  on 
as  best  I  could  the  dry  clothes  I  had  brought  in  a 
small  portmanteau.  The  wind  howled  and  the  rain" 
pattered  outside;  but,  feeling  that  at  any  rate  I 
was  secure  for  an  hour  or  two,  I  felt  about  till  I  found 
a  sofa,  and,  flinging  myself  on  it,  lay  down  and  slept 
from  sheer  weariness.  I  was  indeed  temporarily  ex- 
hausted both  mentally  and  physically. 

When  I  woke  it  was  broad  daylight,  and,  glancing 
at  my  watch  in  full  recollection  of  the  events  of  the 
night,  I  saw  that  it  was  seven  o'clock.  My  imme- 
diate surroundings  claimed  my  first  attention.  The 
room  in  which  I  found  myself  was  of  moderate  size, 
furnished  with  the  unhomelike  gimcrackery  prevalent 
in  houses  which  are  let  rather  than  lived  in.  Extend- 
ing my  explorations  to  the  other  rooms  and  floors,  I 
found  the  same  note  struck  everywhere.  This  was 
no  man's  home,  but  an  investment,  to  be  let  with  all 
its  appurtenances  and  make  money  out  of.  And, 
judging  by  the  musty  smell  of  unoccupation,  it  had 
not  found  favor  with  temporary  tenants  for  a  con- 
siderable time. 

So  much  the  better  for  me.  There  was  less  like- 
lihood that  an  enterprising  house-agent  would  bring 
clients  to  look  at  it,  and,  barring  the  systematic 
search  of  which  Herzog  had  spoken,  that  seemed  the 
only  danger  of  my  lair  being  disturbed. 

The  front  of  the  house  abutted  on  a  leafy  lane, 
but  from  the  back  one  got  a  glorious  view  of  sea  and 
sky,  with  an  untended  but  luxurious  garden  in  the 
foreground.  No  fence  was  needed  on  this  side,  either 


A  RISKY  HIDING-PLACE  183 

as  a  boundary  or  as  a  protection  against  intruders, 
for  the  cliff  dropped  straight  from  the  grounds,  run- 
ning sheer  for  a  score  of  feet  only,  and  then  contin- 
uing in  a  gentler,  verdure-clad  slope  to  the  beach 
below.  At  that  height  above  the  sea-level  the  shore 
was  invisible  from  the  ground-floor  windows,  but 
from  those  above  I  could  just  see  the  line  of  high 
water-mark,  and,  almost  immediately  below  me,  the 
lifeboat-house  and  launching  slip.  Under  normal 
conditions  I  would  have  found  much  to  admire  in  this 
scene;  one  well  calculated  to  inspire  artist  or  poet, 
and  incite  uplifting  thoughts  in  anyone  of  a  refined 
nature.  But  now  my  mind  was  concentrated  firmly 
on  the  terrible  position  in  which  I  was  placed;  there 
was  no  time  for  a  flight  into  the  realms  of  estheticism. 

In  learning  so  much  of  my  surroundings  I  was 
careful  not  to  disarrange  the  drawn  blinds,  my  re- 
search being  restricted  to  peering  from  behind  them. 
A  face  at  the  windows  of  an  unoccupied  house  would 
have  set  tongues  wagging  if  seen  from  one  of  the 
yachts  or  pilot-cutters  anchored  in  the  bay,  where, 
the  rain  having  ceased,  the  sailors  were  busily  swab- 
bing down  the  decks  of  the  larger  craft. 

Before  long  a  healthy  hunger  turned  my  thoughts 
to  Herzog's  promised  return  with  a  supply  of  pro- 
visions, and  I  stationed  myself  at  the  window  where 
we  had  effected  our  entrance,  as  it  was  at  the  back 
of  the  house  and  he  might  be  expected  to  make  for 
it.  Sure  enough  at  about  half-past  nine  there  came 
a  tap  on  one  of  the  lower  panes,  and  I  drew  aside 
the  blind  a  little— to  start  back  in  dismay. 

He  who  stood  without  was  a  bearded,  black-visaged 


184  MILLIONS  OF  MISCHIEF 

man,  whose  blue  guernsey  and  seafarer's  cap  stamped 
him  either  as  a  fisherman  or  one  of  the  longshore 
loafers  who  pose  as  such. 

On  perceiving  that  it  was  not  Herzog,  I  had 
dropped  the  blind  like  lightning,  but  the  man  must 
have  seen  me,  for  he  drummed  lightly  on  the  glass 
again,  and  kept  on  drumming  while  I  racked  my 
distraught  brain  for  the  best  course  to  pursue. 


JANET'S  NARRATIVE  CONTINUED 


CHAPTER  XXIV 
SIR  GIDEON'S  BARGAIN 

the  footman  had  departed  with  his  mas- 
ter's  orders  to  fetch  "Mr.  Roger,"  the  old 
man  turned  to  me  with  a  suave  courtesy 
that  somehow  struck  the  first  real  note  of  fail- 
ure in  the  task  I  had  undertaken.  If  he  had  thrown 
something  at  me,  or  abused  me,  for  bringing  an  accu- 
sation of  murder  against  his  son,  I  should  have  felt 
more  comfortable  than  under  his  polite: 

"Do,  pray,  sit  down.  You  must  be  fatigued  after 
the  experience  you  have  gone  through." 

There  was  no  satire  or  incredulity  in  his  tone  now, 
but  there  was  an  undefined  something  in  it  that 
frightened  me  into  obeying  his  behest.  I  was  not, 
however,  so  frightened  that  I  was  unable  to  perceive 
the  very  careful  preparations  he  was  making  to 
receive  "Mr.  Roger."  He  rearranged  a  reading- 
lamp  on  his  table,  so  that  the  light  was  shaded  from 
his  own  hawk-like  face,  but  fell  full  on  the  door,  and 

185 


186  MILLIONS  OF  MISCHIEF 

he  slightly  wheeled  his  chair  in  the  same  direction. 

It  was  not  long  before  a  quick  step  sounded  out- 
side, and  my  fear  of  the  old  man  was  momentarily 
effaced  by  an  all-consuming  curiosity  as  to  how  the 
young  one  would  behave  in  such  trying  circumstances. 
To  most  people,  I  presume,  it  would  be  distinctly 
embarrassing  to  be  confronted  with  a  woman  whom 
you  thought  that  you  had  just  succeeded  in  burning 
to  death ;  but  these  Marskes,  from  what  I  knew  of  the 
son  and  seemed  to  dread  in  the  father,  were  evidently 
out  of  the  common  ruck. 

The  door  opened,  and  surely  enough  it  was  Roger 
Marske  who  entered.  "How  are  you,  sir?"  he  began, 
without  seeing  me.  "I  Have  been  in  London  all  day 
on  business,  so  thought  I  would  run  down  and  sleep 
here.  Great  God  in  Heaven!  Who  is  that?" 

The  exclamation  followed  swift  on  his  sudden 
recognition  of  me,  and  the  wild  words,  emphasized 
by  his  backing  toward  the  door,  were  tantamount 
to  a  confession— to  a  confirmation  of  what  I  had 
been  impressing  on  Sir  Gideon.  How  would  Sir 
Gideon  take  it?  By  choosing  to  ignore  it,  and  by 
accepting  any  excuse  his  son  might  give  for  his  con- 
sternation on  seeing  me? 

On  the  contrary,  and  much  to  my  surprise,  Sir 
Gideon  accepted  the  tacit  admission  conveyed  in  that 
outburst  of  alarm  as  fully  as  I  could  have  hoped. 
Just  for  a  moment  he  bowed  his  head  and  held  his 
thin  hand  before  his  eyes,  as  though  overcome  by 
emotion;  then,  with  a  quick  gesture  of  self-mastery, 
he  pointed  sternly  to  the  door. 

"Go  into   the   dining-room.     I   shall   follow   you 


SIR  GIDEON'S  BARGAIN  187 

directly,"  he  said,  adding,  as  Roger  Marske  turned 
to  go,  the  one  whip-like  word,  "Stop." 

My  wretched  persecutor  halted  and  faced  his 
father.  "Do  not  attempt  to  leave  the  house,"  the 
latter  snarled.  "If  you  do  I  shall  turn  the  men  out 
to  scour  the  countryside  within  five  minutes." 

The  younger  Marske  shot  a  furious  glance  at  the 
elder,  who  returned  it  with  a  stony  stare,  as  it  seemed 
to  me  watching  his  sideface.  But  Roger  must  have 
read  something  in  his  father's  countenance  to  expe- 
dite his  departure,  and  also  to  inspire  a  calmer  mood. 
For,  as  he  swung  round  on  his  heel  to  the  door,  I 
thought  that  I  detected  the  gleam  of  another  ex- 
pression in  his  cruel  eyes.  What  it  was  I  could  not 
exactly  define,  but  it  semed  to  me  that  the  fierce- 
ness had  been  replaced  by  a  blend  of  cunning  and 
curiosity. 

As  soon  as  the  door  had  closed  on  him,  Sir  Gideon 
rose  from  his  chair  and  approached  me,  all  the  fire 
and  vehemence  gone  from  his  demeanor.  Do  what 
he  would  he  could  not  make  himself  a  pleasant  person- 
ality, but  at  that  moment  I  could  find  it  in  my  heart 
to  pity  him— such  a  picture  of  despair  and  grief  did 
he  present. 

"I  need  hardly  say  what  a  blow  this  is  to  me,  Miss 
Chilmark,"  he  faltered  in  a  broken  voice.  "I  fill  a 
high  station  in  the  service  of  the  State;  my  ambition 
for  my  son  was  boundless.  Your  news  to-night  has 
shattered  all  that,  and  much  more  besides.  I  shall 
never  hold  up  my  head  again.  For  my  son's  be- 
havior on  entering  the  room  leaves  me  no  option  but 
to  accept  unreservedly  your  account  of  his  treatment 


188  MILLIONS  OF  MISCHIEF 

of  you  to-day— whatever  may  be  his  guilt  in  that  other 
affair." 

"I  am  sorry  for  you,"  was  all  the  answer  I  could 
muster. 

"That  is  kind,  and— er— encouraging,  because  we 
are  entirely  in  your  hands,  and  I  have  a  favor  to  ask. 
I  should  wish  to  hear  my  son's  version  from  his  own 
lips,  alone  and  uninterrupted.  Have  I  your  per- 
mission to  join  him  for  that  purpose  ?  I  will  give  you 
my  word  of  honor  that  he  shall  not  leave  the  house." 

The  pathos  of  the  request,  made  to  a  helpless  girl 
by  a  great  statesman  amid  the  splendor  of  his  own 
mansion,  was  not  to  be  denied.  At  any  rate,  I  am 
not  so  constituted  as  to  have  made  a  scene  and  in- 
sisted on  sending  for  the  police  without  allowing  an 
interview.  I  bowed  a  silent  assent. 

"I  thank  you,  and  I  will  not  keep  you  waiting 
long,"  said  Sir  Gideon,  and  he  quitted  the  room  with 
the  air  of  a  State  prisoner  going  to  execution  on 
Tower  Hill.  I  found  myself  wondering  how  an  old 
man  of  such  repulsive  appearance  could  manage  to 
speak  and  walk  with  so  much  dignity  in  such  trying 
circumstances.  I  suppose  I  was  getting  a  little  hys- 
terical over  my  successful  chase  of  Roger  Marske, 
and  perhaps  after  my  physical  trials  that  day,  for 
suddenly  I  began  to  laugh.  Sir  Gideon,  I  told  myself, 
had  acquired  his  self-control  while  answering  em- 
barrassing questions  in  the  House  of  Commons  about 
a  graduated  Income  Tax.  I  have  often  heard  my 
father  abusing  him  for  his  callous  indifference  to  the 
burdens  of  the  poor. 

And  then  I  was  recalled  from  my  silliness  to  respect 


SIR  GIDEON'S  BARGAIN  189 

for  the  man  to  whom  I  had  administered  such  a 
shock  by  the  entrance  of  a  footman  bearing  a  tray  on 
which  were  wine,  biscuits,  and  fruit. 

"With  Sir  Gideon's  compliments,  miss,"  said  the 
servant,  placing  the  much-needed  refreshment  to  my 
hand,  and  retreating  without  the  expected  sniff  at 
my  bedraggled  attire. 

My  hunger  overcame  the  natural  repugnance  I  felt 
to  accept  the  hospitality  of  any  one  of  the  name  of 
Marske,  and  I  fell  to  on  the  contents  of  the  tray  with 
zest.  I  had  hardly  finished  when  Sir  Gideon  re- 
turned, and  though  I  thought  nothing  of  it  at  the 
time,  I  remembered  afterward  the  furtively  eager 
glance  he  directed  at  the  traces  of  my  light  repast — 
as  though  to  gauge  my  practicability  by  my  willing- 
ness to  eat  and  drink  under  his  roof. 

Full  of  years  as  he  was,  he  seemed  to  have  aged 
still  more  during  his  brief  absence  from  the  room. 
Treading  heavily,  and  with  bowed  head,  he  advanced 
to  his  chair  and  sat  down  in  it  with  a  sigh,  as  though 
grateful  for  the  rest. 

"I  must  think  of  you  first;  you  must  be  in  great 
suspense,"  he  began,  struggling  with  a  catch  in  his 
voice.  "It  is  all  too  true— this  charge  you  bring. 
My  unhappy  son  did  commit  the  crime  of  which  Cap- 
tain Rivington  was  convicted.  Nay,  hear  me  out,*' 
he  broke  off,  as  I  leaped  to  my  feet  jubilant.  "Riving- 
ton can— I  hope  will— be  cleared,  and  Roger  must 
bear  his  load  of  shame  and  misery.  But,  oh,  Miss 
Chilmark,  I  come  to  you  as  a  suppliant." 

"For  what?"  I  asked  with  a  tinge  of  suspicion. 
It  seemed  to  me  that  there  was  nothing  more  to  be 


190  MILLIONS  OF  MISCHIEF 

done  than  that  Arthur  should  be  released  by  the 
King 's  pardon  and  Roger  Marske  be  arrested. 

''For  my  son's  life,  or,  to  speak  more  correctly,  for 
the  barest  chance  for  it,"  replied  Sir  Gideon,  eyeing 
me  askance.  "I  have  kept  my  word  to  you;  he 
has  not  left  the  house,  and  will  not  do  so— unless  you 
give  me  permission  to  tell  him  that  he  may  try  to 
make  good  his  escape.  In  return  for  your  clemency, 
I  will  engage  to  furnish  you  with  certain  proofs 
which  my  son  has  indicated  to  me  for  the  establish- 
ment of  Rivington's  innocence,  and,  alas!  his  own 
guilt.  The  disgrace  I  must  bear  as  best  I  can;  it 
is  only  for  his  life,  if  he  can  save  it  by  flight,  that 
I  plead." 

All  my  instincts  were  up  in  arms  at  that.  "You 
mean,"  I  said  hotly,  "that  if  I  do  not  consent  to 
your  terms,  the  proofs  you  mention  will  not  be  forth- 
coming ? ' ' 

For  the  fraction  of  a  second  a  scowl  creased  his 
wrinkled  forehead  at  the  bluntness  of  my  question, 
but  his  parliamentary  training  came  to  the  rescue. 
He  waved  a  deprecating  hand. 

"Not  quite  that,"  he  said  smoothly.  "But  you 
will  understand,  being  a  young  lady  of  so  keen  an 
intelligence,  that  if  you  demanded  my  son's  arrest 
to-night  here  in  my  house,  you  could  not  expect  the 
same  facilities  that  a  more  yielding  attitude  would 
entitle  you  to.  I  should,  naturally,  after  my  son's 
arrest,  be  deeply  concerned  in  moving  heaven  and 
earth  in  his  defense." 

I  understood,  or  thought  I  did,  not  only  that,  but 
a  good  deal  more  beside.  I  understood  that  my 


SIR  GIDEON'S  BARGAIN  191 

conversation  with  this  astute  old  gentleman  had  been 
entirely  without  witnesses,  and  that  he  intended  to 
repudiate  everything  that  had  passed  if  I  did  not  ac- 
cede to  his  demand.  I  had  no  reason  but  a  woman's 
reason  for  thinking  that  he  would  be  so  wicked,  but, 
to  put  it  plainly,  I  did  not  "like  his  looks."  That 
dislike  influenced  the  course  I  took— that  and  my 
eagerness  to  obtain  proofs  of  Arthur's  innocence  with- 
out a  day's  delay. 

"What  do  you  propose?"  I  asked. 

"That  I  may  tell  Roger  that  he  may  make  his 
escape — with  at  least  fifteen  hours'  start  it  will  be, 
if  he  goes  at  once,"  replied  Sir  Gideon,  leaning  to- 
ward me.  "Then,  to-morrow,  I  will  myself  take  you 
to  where  you  can  verify  the  confession  he  made  to  me 
just  now.  If  you  will  do  me  the  honor  to  be  my 
guest  to-night,  my  housekeeper— I  am  a  widower,  and 
there  are  no  ladies  in  the  family — shall  attend  to  your 
comfort,  and  in  the  morning  I  will  drive  you  to  the 
place  where  the  proofs  are  to  be  obtained." 

"Very  well,"  was  my  answer.  "It  shall  be  as  you 
wish,  but  I  would  prefer  not  to  spend  the  night  here. ' ' 

"You  have  made  me  a  heavy  debtor,"  said  Sir 
Gideon  rising.  "Roger  shall  be  gone  in  twenty  min- 
utes, and  you  will  find  me  prompt  in  carrying  out 
my  part  of  the  compact.  But  will  you  not  reconsider 
your  decision  not  to  sleep  here?  Even  if  I  sent  you 
to  Brentwood  in  a  carriage  you  would  be  too  late  to 
catch  the  last  train,  and  there  are  no  hotels  there 
where  you  would " 

"Where  they  would  take  me  in  this  condition 
late  at  night  and  without  luggage, ' '  I  helped  him  out. 


192  MILLIONS  OF  MISCHIEF 

"In  that  case  I  must  avail  myself  of  your  offer." 
"It  will  enable  us  to  start  early  to-morrow,"  said 
Sir  Gideon.  "I  will  send  the  housekeeper  to  you  at 
once."  And  with  bent  head  and  feeble  gait  he  went 
from  the  room. 


CHAPTER  XXV 

THE    FACE  AT  THE  GANGWAY 

DID  not  sleep  well  that  night.  Owing  to  the 
lateness  of  the  hour  and  the  remoteness  of 
the  mansion  from  other  dwellings,  I  had 
very  little  choice  in  the  matter,  unless  I  was 
to  seek  a  convenient  hayrick,  but  no  sooner  had  I  been 
shown  into  a  bedroom  by  a  respectful  and  profusely 
sympathetic  housekeeper,  than  the  incongruity  of  my 
position  struck  me  with  full  force. 

Marske  Hall  seemed  the  last  place  in  the  world 
in  which  my  friends  and  well-wishers,  had  they  known 
of  the  circumstances,  would  have  desired  me  to  lay 
my  head.  In  the  well-ordered  house  of  a  Cabinet 
Minister,  with  troops  of  servants  within  call,  I  was 
not  really  apprehensive  of  personal  danger.  But  the 
fact  remained  that  I  was  in  the  enemy's  country, 
and  I  was  particular  to  look  to  the  defenses  of  my 
bedroom  door. 

The  night  passed,  however,  without  any  occasion 
for  alarm,  and  breakfast  was  brought  up  to  me  by  a 
resourceful  maid,  who  helped  me  to  remove  from  my 
clothes  the  traces  of  my  scramble  at  the  burning 
Mill  House.  I  guessed  by  her  manner  that  she 
had  been  specially  instructed  not  to  show  surprise 

193 


194  MILLIONS  OF  MISCHIEF 

at  the  state  of  my  garments,  and  I  have  often  won- 
dered since  what  reason  had  been  given  to  her.  It 
could  not  have  been  the  right  one,  for  she  chattered 
about  the  fire  as  if  it  were  genuine  news  to  me. 

The  girl  seemed  to  be  so  well  disposed  and  un- 
suspicious of  the  trouble  I  was  bringing  upon  her 
master's  house,  that  I  could  not  refrain  from  making 
sure  of  one  point  that  had  vexed  me  all  night. 

' '  Is  Mr.  Roger  Marske  staying  here  ? "  I  asked  her. 

"Oh  no,  miss,"  was  the  prompt  reply.  "He  ar- 
rived last  night,  but  he  didn  't  stop  more  than  an  hour. 
One  of  the  grooms  drove  him  to  Brentwood,  but  as  it 
was  too  late  for  the  last  train  he  must  have  stayed 
there." 

How  glad  I  was  that  I  had  not  insisted  on  going 
to  Brentwood  too.  I  might  have  come  across  the 
fugitive,  and  one  narrow  escape  from  the  hands  of 
Mr.  Roger  Marske  was  enough  for  a  lifetime,  I  told 
myself. 

At  ten  o'clock  the  same  girl  returned  to  say  that 
the  carriage  was  at  the  door,  and  that  Sir  Gideon 
was  waiting  for  me,  if  I  would  be  so  good  as  to  go 
down  to  him.  I  found  my  host  in  the  great  oak- 
paneled  hall,  his  gaunt  shoulders  swathed  in  a  plaid 
in  spite  of  the  summer  heat.  His  face  looked  drawn 
and  haggard,  as  though  the  night  had  been  an  un- 
quiet vigil  for  him,  but  his  manner  as  he  advanced  to 
meet  me  was  firmer  and  more  assured  than  during  the 
momentous  interview  of  the  previous  evening.  I  was 
glad  that  he  did  not  attempt  to  shake  hands.  I  was 
in  the  mood  to  be  suspicious  of  undue  friendliness  or 
familiarity. 


THE  FACE  AT  THE  GANGWAY    195 

"I  trust  that  my  people  have  made  you  com- 
fortable," he  said.  "Ah,  that  is  well.  Then,  if  you 
are  ready,  we  will  start,  for  we  have  a  long  drive 
before  us." 

Under  the  portico  a  barouche,  having  the  hood 
closed  and  drawn  by  a  fine  pair  of  bays,  was  waiting 
with  a  powdered  coachman  on  the  box  and  a  powdered 
footman  with  his  hand  on  the  door-knob.  I  could 
not  help  thinking  gaily  that  my  vindication  of  Arthur 
bade  fair  to  be  a  triumphal  progress,  but  I  was  re- 
called to  more  sober  reflections  when  Sir  Gideon 
followed  me  in,  taking  the  opposite  seat,  as  far  from 
me  as  possible.  He  preserved  a  rigid  silence  till  we 
were  clear  of  the  lodge  gates,  then  leaned  suddenly 
forward  and  said — 

"Beyond  the  immediate  purpose  in  view,  you  and 
I  have  nothing  in  common  between  us.  You  will  not 
expect  me  to  do  violence  to  my  feelings  by  keeping 
up  the  pretense  of  polite  conversation.  The  subject 
that  is  most  in  our  minds  I  decline  to  discuss." 

"I  should  prefer  not  to  talk,  but  I  think  that  you 
owe  it  to  me  to  tell  me  where  we  are  going, ' '  I  replied. 

"I  have  not  the  least  objection  to  that,"  he  made 
answer,  his  lips  twitching  strangely.  "It  seems  from 
what  my  son  told  me  last  night  that  he  was  secretly 
married  to  Captain  Rivington's  sister.  They  spent 
some  time  together  on  a  yacht,  which  is  now  lying  in 
the  Victoria  Docks.  We  are  going  there  to  see  the  cap- 
tain of  the  vessel,  who  is  in  a  position  to  prove  the 
connection— also,  that  my  son  parted  from  his  wife 
*  after  a  serious  quarrel." 

I  have  been  informed  since  that  it  is  very  doubtful, 


196  MILLIONS  OF  MISCHIEF 

if  I  had  succeeded  in  obtaining  Sir  Gideon's  glibly 
promised  "proof,"  whether  it  would  have  been  strong 
enough  of  itself  to  convict  Roger  Marske  of  the  two 
murders,  or  even  to  snatch  Arthur  from  the  execu- 
tioner should  he  be  discovered.  But  in  my  ignorant 
vanity  I  thought  that  I  had  achieved  so  much  that  I 
had  as  good  as  achieved  all,  and  I  sat  back,  content 
with  the  explanation. 

During  the  eighteen-mile  drive  we  exchanged  no 
further  words,  but  I  had  plenty  of  food  for  thought 
in  Sir  Gideon's  disclosure.  Roger  Marske 's  courtship 
of  Lady  Muriel  shed  a  lurid  light  on  his  reason  for 
killing  Clara,  and  Mrs.  Rivington  too,  if  the  latter 
was  aware  of  the  secret  marriage.  I  could  see  it  all 
so  clearly,  and  so,  no  doubt,  would  the  jury  before 
whom  Roger  Marske  would  be  tried.  It  was  the  old 
story  of  a  clandestine  marriage,  of  speedy  repentance 
on  the  part  of  the  husband,  and  of  lapse  into  crime 
when  more  material  advantage  offered  in  a  better 
match. 

It  was  past  noon  when  the  handsome  equipage, 
after  astonishing  the  smoky  East  End  streets,  drew 
up  at  the  dock  gates.  I  was  conscious  of  a  subtle 
change  in  Sir  Gideon's  manner  directly  we  alighted. 
Once  or  twice  during  the  silent  drive  I  had  caught 
his  eye  fixed  on  me  in  stealthily  malevolent,  but 
instantly  removed,  contemplation.  Now,  for  the 
benefit  of  coachman  and  footman  and  casual  by- 
standers, I  believe,  he  was  the  chivalrous  old 
gentleman  and  the  distinguished  statesman  being 
paternally  civil  to  a  girl  not  socially  his  equal, 
but  whom  it  was  his  whim  to  befriend.  But  it  was 


THE  FACE  AT  THE  GANGWAY    197 

all  done  very  cleverly,  almost  in  dumb  show,  without 
gush. 

Just  as  I  have  wondered  what  that  nice  maid  at 
Marske  Hall  had  been  told  about  me,  so  I  have 
wondered  what  reason  the  powdered  coachman  and 
the  elegant  footman  had  been  led  to  attribute  to  my 
sudden  appearance  at  their  master's  house  and  to  that 
long  drive.  I  have  never  been  able  to  ascertain. 

"You  will  find  some  place  where  you  can  rest  and 
bait  the  horses,  Capps.  I  may  be  an  hour— possibly 
two,"  said  Sir  Gideon.  "Now,"  he  added,  turning 
to  me  with  a  little  catchy  laugh,  "we  will  go  and 
search  for  this  wonderful  vessel. ' ' 

Having  proceeded  so  far  in  my  task  I  was  not 
going  to  turn  back  now,  but  as  I  passed  through  the 
dock  gates  at  his  side  a  recurrence  of  my  fear  of  him 
seized  me  with  almost  overmastering  power.  Intui- 
tively, though  without  definite  understanding,  I  may 
have  noticed  at  that  moment  what  I  was  only  too  well 
able  to  account  for  afterwards — that  in  the  presence 
of  others  he  never  addressed  me  by  my  name.  Indeed, 
when  we  were  unobserved  he  spoke  it  in  low  whispers. 

We  traversed  several  of  the  quays,  my  companion 
scrutinizing  the  bow  of  each  vessel  as  we  passed, 
and  then,  with  an  impatient  gesture,  he  stopped  and 
spoke  to  one  of  the  dock  officials. 

"Can  you  tell  me,"  he  said,  "where  I  shall  find 
a  steamship  called  the  Nightshadel" 

"Next  turning  to  the  left— second  berth  in  Num- 
ber 2  Basin,"  the  man  replied.  Sir  Gideon  mumbled 
«  his  thanks  and  was  hurrying  on,  but  the  official 
called  after  him  the  gratuitous  information:  "Her 


198  MILLIONS  OF  MISCHIEF 

skipper  has  applied  for  his  papers.  She  clears  this 
evening,  unexpected,  I've  heard." 

Sir  Gideon  did  not  appear  to  appreciate  this  com- 
municativeness, for  he  growled  something  about 
"meddlesome  fellow,"  and  directed  my  attention  into 
a  new  channel  by  requesting  me  to  look  out  for  the 
name  of  the  vessel.  Like  so  many  of  the  apparent 
trifles  that  centered  round  me  that  day  his  assiduity 
in  glossing  over  the  approaching  and  unexpected 
departure  of  the  Nightshade  did  not  strike  me  till 
later— when,  in  fact,  it  was  too  late. 

My  younger  eyes  were  the  first  to  discover  the 
name  of  the  ship  we  were  looking  for,  and  it  was  hard 
to  reconcile  her  appearance  with  Sir  Gideon's  de- 
scription of  her  as  a  yacht.  Her  low,  black  hull,  with 
here  and  there  patches  of  rusty  plates,  her  dingy 
funnel  and  untidy  deck,  gave  her  more  the  semblance 
of  a  trading  coaster  or  of  a  small  tramp  steamer. 
In  pointing  her  out  to  Sir  Gideon  I  nearly  mentioned 
the  discrepancy,  but  I  checked  myself,  deeming  it 
hardly  worth  while  to  split  such  a  straw  as  that. 
What  did  it  matter  to  me  how  she  was  described, 
so  long  as  the  proofs  of  Arthur's  innocence  were  to  be 
obtained  on  her  ?  What  matter,  when  by  interviewing 
the  captain,  I  could  secure  the  needed  evidence? 

"We  will  go  on  board  at  once,"  said  Sir  Gideon 
curtly,  and,  suiting  the  action  to  the  word,  he  crossed 
the  plank  connecting  the  dock  with  the  gangway. 
Following  in  his  wake,  I  had  just  set  foot  on  the  deck 
when  a  short,  strongly-built  man,  wearing  a  cap  with 
a  tarnished  band,  but  no  other  sign  of  his  calling, 
came  out  of  the  chart-room  under  the  bridge.  His 


THE  FACE  AT  THE  GANGWAY    199 

face  was  the  most  terrible  I  have  ever  looked  upon— 
a  whole  history  of  drink  and  ungoverned  passions. 

"What  the  h—  are  you  la-di-das  doing  aboard  my 
ship?"  he  yelled.  "Mistaken  me  for  the  P.  and  0. 
mailboat,  I  reckon.  Well,  be  jolly  quick  in  clearing 
off  the  Nightshade.  We  don't  want  any  blooming 
toffs  here." 

My  companion  drew  himself  up  with  a  great  show 
of  dignity.  ' '  I  am  Sir  Gideon  Marske, ' '  he  said. 

"The  bloke  that  taxes  us?  Come  to  think  of  it, 
I've  seen  your  ugly  mug  in  the  comics,  or  some- 
where," retorted  the  captain  of  the  Nightshade.  "If 
I  had  you  out  in  the  open  sea  I  'd  ropes-end  you,  and, 
by  G—  I'll  do  it  in  dock  if  you  don't  skip  from  my 
little  hooker." 

"I  am  here  at  the  instance  of  a  Mr.  Danvers 
Crane,  whom  I  think  you  know,"  said  Sir  Gideon, 
preserving  his  temper  so  completely  that  somehow 
I  gained  the  impression  that  a  false  note  rang  in 
these  exchanges.  It  was  like  the  premature  playing 
of  a  badly-rehearsed  comedy. 

The  man  in  the  amphibious  garments  placed  a 
great  fleshy  forefinger  to  his  sensual  lips,  and  affected 
to  consider.  "Ah,"  he  ejaculated.  "Circumstances 
alter  cases.  I  remember  Mr.  Danvers  Crane— right 
as  Moses.  A  nice  chap,  free  with  the  spondulics  he 
was.  Why  might  Mr.  Danvers  Crane  have  sent  you 
to  me?  There  ain't  no  mistake,  is  there?  I'm  Cap- 
tain Belcher,  I  am— the  skipper  of  this  craft." 

"Then  you  are  the  person  we  want,"  said  Sir 
Gideon,  making  a  half -turn  to  me  as  though  appealing 
for  courtesy  by  including  a  lady  in  the  business. 


200  MILLIONS  OF  MISCHIEF 

"The  matter  is  very  urgent  and  very  private,  and 
you  will  be  an — er — gainer  by  rendering  us  every 
assistance  in  your  power.  Is  there— have  you  no 
place  where  we  can  converse " 

' '  On  the  strict  q.  t.  ?  Of  course  there  is.  As  there 
seems  to  be  profit  in  it,  you'd  better  step  down  into 
the  cuddy,"  replied  Belcher  roughly,  but  still  with 
that  curious  perfunctoriness  of  tone  suggesting  the 
playing  of  a  part  allotted  at  short  notice  and  im- 
perfectly learned.  I  ought  to  have  been  warned  by 
it,  and  should  have  been,  perhaps,  if  it  had  been 
any  one's  else  affair.  As  it  was  I  was  blind  and  deaf 
to  everything  but  the  immediate  prospect  of  pro- 
curing from  this  brutal  ruffian  the  details  of  Roger 
Marske's  guilt,  and  I  descended  the  steps  into  the 
evil-smelling  den  below,  heedless  of  my  danger. 

If  I  had  known  then,  as  I  do  now,  that  Sir  Gideon 
Marske  was  quite  as  deeply  implicated  as  his  son 
in  the  complex  events  depending  on  the  vindication 
of  Arthur,  how  different  it  would  all  have  been. 

The  cuddy,  or  main  cabin,  of  the  Nightshade  was 
an  apartment  some  eighteen  feet  long  by  ten  in 
width,  having  a  table  running  down  the  center  and 
the  stem  of  a  mast  piercing  it  at  the  end  furthest 
from  the  stairs.  It  was  lighted  by  a  smoke-grimed 
skylight.  On  each  side  were  the  doors  of  three 
sleeping  berths.  The  atmosphere  reeked  with  the 
odors  of  rank  tobacco,  fiery  spirits,  greasy  meat,  and 
damp  clothes. 

So  much  I  had  been  able  to  observe  when  Sir 
Gideon,  who  had  preceded  me  down  the  stairs,  cleared 
his  throat  and  glanced  a  little  nervously  at  Belcher. 


THE  FACE  AT  THE  GANGWAY    201 

"The— er— air  is  rather  oppressive  down  here,  cap- 
tain, ' '  he  said.  ' '  And  the  discussion  upon  which  you 
will  enter  with  this  lady  would  be  painful  to  me. 
I  think  I  should  prefer  to  return  to  the  deck  till— till 
you  have  finished  the— er— negotiations." 

"Right  you  are,  governor.  The  young  miss  and  I 
will  soon  come  to  terms,  I  '11  warrant, ' '  replied  Belcher. 
And  he  followed  Sir  Gideon  to  the  foot  of  the  stairs, 
as  if,  with  a  new-born  politeness,  to  show  him  the 
way  out.  I  stood  by  the  table,  watching  the  gaunt 
back  and  sloping  shoulders  of  the  old  man  as  he 
climbed  to  the  deck,  and  I  was  just  wondering  whether 
the  pair  had  not  exchanged  a  whispered  confidence, 
when  chaos  swooped  upon  me. 

Several  of  the  cabin  doors  on  either  side  of  the 
cuddy  were  burst  open,  I  was  seized  by  violent  hands, 
something  acrid  was  pressed  to  my  face,  and  the  rest 
was  blank. 


CHAPTER  XXVI 
''SEALED  ORDERS" 

OW  long  I  lay  unconscious  I  know  not,  but, 
when  I  began  to  recover,  my  first  sensation 
was  that  of  motion.  I  was  lying  down,  and 
the  thing  I  lay  on  was  swaying  slightly  to 
and  fro.  In  my  ears  there  buzzed  a  muffled  metallic 
vibration. 

Then,  as  my  heavy  eyes  roamed  wildly  round  the 
cramped  space,  all  that  had  happened  came  back  to 
me  in  a  flash,  and  I  knew  that  I  was  in  one  of  the 
sleeping-berths  of  the  Nightshade,  and  that  the  Night- 
shade was  no  longer  in  the  dock.  The  vibration  was 
caused  by  the  pulsing  of  her  engines.  She  was  steam- 
ing slowly  in  open  water.  The  voyage  had  begun, 
and  I  was  a  prisoner  on  board  her— bound  whither? 

The  shock  of  my  awakening  was  so  horrible  that 
the  full  significance  of  my  detention  on  the  vessel 
only  came  to  me  by  degrees.  But  when  I  tried  the 
plan  of  carrying  my  mind  back  to  the  day  before, 
they  were  degrees  that  followed  each  other  Quickly, 
and  appalling  enough  I  found  them.  That  steady 
throb  of  the  steamer's  screw  sounded  like  a  death 
knell,  for  I  guessed  all  too  surely  that  I  was  the 
victim  of  a  deliberate  plot  to  get  me  out  of  the  way 
of  launching  ruin  on  Roger  Marske. 

202 


" SEALED  ORDERS"  203 

How  I  regretted  not  having  trusted  the  instinct 
which,  the  moment  I  crossed  the  threshold  of  the 
library  at  Marske  Hall,  had  bidden  me  beware  of  Sir 
Gideon.  Apart  from  the  danger-signal  in  his  somber 
eyes  and  hawk-like  features,  I  might  have  known  that 
no  good  man  could  have  bred  a  Roger  Marske.  I  saw 
now  too  clearly  how  I  had  underestimated  the  enor- 
mous catastrophe  that  I  represented  to  one  in  Sir 
Gideon's  position.  There  was  more  than  paternal 
affection  and  family  pride  at  stake  here.  There  was 
the  loss  of  high  office,  there  was  the  overthrow  of 
ambition,  there  was  the  downfall  of  a  public  career 
entailed,  as  well  as  the  stigma  of  having  a  son  branded 
as  a  murderer ;  and  between  all  these  consequences  and 
absolute  immunity,  was  interposed  only  the  frail  bar- 
rier of  a  girl's  life.  In  my  ignorance  I  was,  perhaps 
happily,  unable  then  to  throw  into  the  enormous  bal- 
ance against  me,  the  discovery  of  the  Alphington  plot, 
which  would  become  imminent  directly  Arthur  was  a 
free  agent.  Yet  with  but  partial  retrospection  I  could 
gauge  their  motives. 

I  could  picture  to  myself  now,  so  easy  is  it  to  be 
wise  after  the  event,  the  interview  between  father  and 
son  while  I  nibbled  those  treacherous  biscuits  in  the 
library.  Sir  Gideon  could  have  wasted  very  little 
time  in  upbraiding.  Having  ascertained  from  Roger 
the  one  paramount  fact  of  his  guilt,  he  must  have 
at  once  faced  the  problem  of  how  to  silence  me.  He 
knew  well  that  if  he  returned  to  me  with  an  indignant 
denial  I  should  take  my  information  elsewhere.  To 
admit  the  accusation,  feign  the  deepest  concern  for 
his  son's  impending  fate,  and  keep  me  in  his  power, 


204  MILLIONS  OF  MISCHIEF 

with  promises  of  assistance  on  the  morrow,  was  the 
only  course  open  to  him. 

And  with  what  subtlety  had  he  adopted  it.  I  re- 
membered how  the  crafty  old  man  had  appealed  to 
my  mercy,  dressing  up  his  prayer  in  the  guise  of  a 
bargain,  and  suggesting  that  if  I  did  not  perform 
my  part  and  allow  Roger  the  chance  of  escape,  the 
promised  proofs  would  be  withheld  and  the  admission 
repudiated.  It  was  plain  to  me  now  that  the  younger 
Marske  had  utilized  the  start  his  wily  father  had 
gained  for  him,  not  in  flight,  but  in  preparing  the 
trap  into  which  I  had  fallen.  It  was  plain  enough 
now,  how  desperately  I  had  been  imposed  upon. 

That  the  brutal  captain  of  the  Nightshade  had  any 
knowledge  of  Arthur 's  unfortunate  sister,  or  had  ever 
sailed  with  Roger  Marske  on  a  yacht,  was  extremely 
improbable.  Belcher  did  not  look  like  a  man  who 
would  ever  be  entrusted  with  the  command  of  a  yacht. 
However,  by  the  light  of  what  had  befallen  me  at  his 
hands,  that  was  immaterial.  Doubtless  Roger  Marske, 
or  maybe  Sir  Gideon  himself,  had  had  previous  deal- 
ings with  him,  and  knew  that  he  would  be  an  un- 
scrupulous instrument  for  conveying  me — where? 

All  these  recollections  and  forebodings  rushed  at 
lightning  speed  through  my  clearing  brain,  and  with 
an  effort  I  staggered  to  my  feet  and  looked  about  me. 
The  place  I  was  in  was  a  small  cabin,  with  two  sleep- 
ing bunks,  on  the  lower  of  which  I  had  slept  out  my 
drugged  sleep.  I  saw  with  a  thrill  of  apprehension 
that  the  bedclothes  were  fairly  clean,  nor  was  this  in- 
consistent. On  such  a  vessel  as  this  cleanliness  sug- 
gested preparation  and  design,  and  there  were  infinite 


"SEALED  ORDEES"  205 

possibilities  in  the  designs  of  such  people  as  had  hold 
of  me. 

One  step  brought  me  to  the  door,  which,  of  course, 
was  locked,  and  I  turned  to  the  circular  port-hole. 
It  was  closed,  but  had  I  been  able  to  open  it,  it  would 
have  been  useless  for  purposes  of  escape,  for  it  was 
too  small  to  admit  the  passage  of  my  head,  to  say 
nothing  of  my  body.  It  offered  this  advantage, 
though,  that  it  gave  me  a  view  of  the  outside  world, 
and  enabled  me  to  calculate  the  time  that  had  elapsed 
since  I  had  come  on  board.  My  watch  had  already 
told  me  that  it  was  half-past  five,  but  that  might  mean 
anything. 

The  sun  was  rising  from  a  bank  of  haze,  between 
which  and  the  ship,  at  a  considerable  distance,  a  long 
line  of  low-lying  mud-flats  was  visible.  I  was  able 
to  conclude,  therefore,  with  tolerable  accuracy  that 
it  was  early  morning,  and  that  the  steamer  was  some- 
where in  the  lower  reaches  of  the  Thames,  heading 
for  the  open  sea.  The  discovery  destroyed  my  last 
hope  of  deliverance  through  the  simple  feminine  ex- 
pedient of  using  my  lungs,  and  doubtless  the  anaes- 
thetic had  been  timed  for  that.  I  might  have 
screamed  with  success  while  the  Nightshade  was  in 
dock ;  out  here  in  the  broad  waterway  my  voice,  lifted 
to  its  fullest  compass,  would  never  reach  a  passing 
vessel  from  the  muffled  seclusion  of  the  closed-up 
cabin. 

And  as  I  gazed  with  wistful  longing  at  the  far-off 
shore  through  the  plate-glass  circle,  the  steamer  bore 
to  the  right,  the  land  fell  away  quickly,  and  minute 
by  minute  the  waves  ran  higher.  I  knew  that  we 


206  MILLIONS  OF  MISCHIEF 

were  out  of  the  river,  standing  down  Channel  on  a 
southerly  course  for  the  Straits  of  Dover,  and  this 
knowledge  filled  me  with  anguish. 

Vessels  passed  us  in  plenty,  from  heavily-laden 
barges  to  huge  inward-bound  ocean  liners,  but  none 
so  near  that  even  had  I  been  on  deck  could  I  have 
made  my  distress  known  on  board  them.  For  a  few 
minutes  that  seemed  interminable,  I  was  cruelly  tanta- 
lized by  a  small  craft  that  suddenly  swooped  down 
quite  close,  and  set  my  heart  beating  by  lowering  a 
boat.  My  excitement  grew  into  positive  pain  when  the 
boat  pulled  straight  toward  my  floating  prison,  and 
at  the  same  time  the  Nightshade  slowed  down  and 
nearly  stopped.  I  guessed  what  was  happening.  The 
pilot,  my  last  link  with  freedom,  was  about  to  be  put 
off.  In  my  semi-dazed  condition  I  had  forgotten  all 
about  him,  and  now,  in  the  frantic  hope  that  he  would 
hear,  I  cried  aloud  when  it  was  too  late. 

Too  late,  because  I  was  either  heard  by  Belcher, 
or  he  had  divined  that  I  might  make  this  last  effort, 
for  my  voice  was  immediately  drowned  by  the  rush  of 
escaping  steam.  The  order  had  evidently  been  given 
to  relieve  the  pressure  on  the  safety-valve,  with  the 
result  that  my  cries  could  not  have  been  audible  on 
deck  amid  the  hideous  din.  I  drummed  on  the  port- 
hole to  try  and  attract  the  attention  of  the  two  men 
in  the  pilot-cutter's  boat,  but  they  were  busy  with 
their  oars  in  the  choppy  sea,  and  the  boat  shot  under 
our  stern  and  was  lost  to  "view.  Then  came  the  sharp 
"ting- ting"  of  the  engine-room  bell,  and  the  Night- 
shade forged  ahead  again.  The  pilot  had  descended 
on  the  other  side,  and  I  was  a  prey  to  black  despair  as 


"SEALED  ORDERS"  207 

I  saw  the  cutter  go  curtseying  toward  the  boat  a  hun- 
dred yards  in  our  wake. 

I  think  that  the  tears  would  have  come  then,  had  I 
not  been  distracted  by  a  loud  knock  at  the  cabin  door 
—a  superfluous  attention  that  I  appreciated  vaguely, 
seeing  that  the  door  was  locked  on  the  outside,  and 
that  it  was  open  to  any  one  to  enter. 

"Ahoy  there,  missy.  Now  you've  done  singing 
you'll  be  wanting  some  breakfast,  eh?"  came  the 
husky  tones  of  Captain  Belcher's  voice. 

I  decided  rapidly  that,  as  I  was  at  the  man's  mercy 
and  in  complete  ignorance  of  his  intentions  toward 
me,  there  was  nothing  to  be  gained  by  open  defiance 
or  a  display  of  temper.  "Woman's  wit  had  served  me 
as  a  poor  weapon  so  far,  but  it  remained  my  only  one. 
I  would  pin  such  little  faith  as  was  left  in  me  to  it 
still. 

' '  How  soon  will  breakfast  be  ready  ?  "  I  asked,  striv- 
ing to  make  the  question  sound  as  indifferent  as  if  I 
were  addressing  the  steward  of  an  Atlantic  mailboat. 

My  apparent  complacence  must  have  astonished 
him,  for  a  blasphemous  but  not  unfriendly  oath  pre- 
faced the  reply:  "Now  you're  talking  sense.  The 
coffee '11  be  hot  as  soon  as  you  want  it,  and— your 
door's  unlocked." 

The  truth  of  the  latter  statement,  evidenced  by  the 
scrooping  of  the  key,  emboldened  me  to  put  the  ques- 
tion: 

"I  wish  you  would  tell  me  where  you  are  bound 
for,  Captain  Belcher.  I  cannot  pretend  to  feel  very 
comfortable  till  I  know  that. ' ' 

The  rasping  laugh  that  met  my  request  for  en- 


208  MILLIONS  OF  MISCHIEF 

lightenment  was  not  reassuring.  "There  you  have 
me,  missy,"  replied  the  captain.  "You  may  believe 
me  or  not,  but  I  know  no  more  than  you  do,  and 
shan't  till  we've  passed  the  Straits.  We're  sailing 
man-o'-war  fashion  this  trip — under  sealed  orders." 

"Very  well,"  I  said.  "I  shall  be  quite  ready  for 
breakfast  in  ten  minutes.  Am  I  to  have  it  in  here  ? ' ' 

"Not  you,"  thundered  through  the  cabin  door. 
"You're  to  have  it  along  of  me— here  in  the  cuddy. 
And  you'll  find  me  a  first-class  ladies'  man,  I  warn 
you." 


OPENING  THE  ENVELOPE 

T|HE  prospect  of  sitting  down  to  breakfast  with 
I  the  captain  of  the  Nightshade  gained  nothing 
in  attractiveness  from  his  self-description  as 
a  ladies'  man,  but  to  undergo  the  ordeal 
seemed  the  wisest  policy.  Rudeness  and  foul-mouthed 
speech  I  might  have  to  put  up  with,  but  it  was  possi- 
ble that  by  feigning  a  stupid  apathy  I  might  avoid 
the  brutal  violence  of  which  he  seemed  capable. 

And  there  would  be  more  scope  for  seizing  any 
opportunity  that  might  occur  if  I  availed  myself  of 
the  run  of  the  ship,  than  if  I  sulked  in  the  stifling 
cabin.  At  the  same  moment  I  impressed  upon  myself 
the  necessity  of  not  overdoing  the  assumption  of 
studied  carelessness,  for  I  shrewdly  suspected  that  in 
Captain  Belcher's  crude  animalism  there  was  a  large 
proportion  of  native  cunning.  His  reception  of  Sir 
Gideon  Marske  as  an  unexpected  stranger,  in  order 
to  lead  up  to  my  inveiglement  down  the  companion, 
had  shown  that  he  himself  could  play  a  part  with 
success. 

When  I  emerged  from  the  cabin  into  the  cuddy,  I 
found  the  captain  already  seated  at  the  end  of  the 

209 


210  MILLIONS  OF  MISCHIEF 

table,  and  it  was  a  relief  to  see  that  the  meal  was  not 
to  be  eaten  tete-a-tete.  The  place  on  his  left  was  occu- 
pied by  a  sheepish-looking  man  with  an  enormous 
shock  of  red  hair,  whom  I  afterward  discovered  to  be 
the  mate.  There  was  also  a  Portuguese  steward  in 
attendance,  to  encourage  me  with  the  proverb  that 
there  is  safety  in  numbers,  though  I  should  have  been 
very  loth  to  meet  any  one  of  the  three  men  in  a  coun- 
try lane  on  a  dark  night. 

At  my  entrance  Belcher  looked  me  over  with  a  bold 
stare,  and  pointed  to  the  seat  on  his  right. 

"Now  then,  Antonio,  you  black  swab,  bacon  and 
eggs  for  the  passenger,"  he  roared  at  the  steward. 
"O'Brien,"  turning  to  the  mate,  "just  trot  out  your 
company  manners  before  a  lady.  If  I  catch  you 
shoving  your  knife  into  your  ugly  mouth  again  so  long 
as  this  blooming  cuddy  is  a  first-class  saloon,  I'll  send 
you  to  grub  forrard,  along  of  the  crew.  I  hope  you 
slept  well,  miss?" 

The  leer  with  which  he  accompanied  the  impudent 
question  discounted  its  rough  humor,  and  I  had  much 
ado  to  keep  from  breaking  down  at  the  start. 

"At  any  rate,  I  slept  very  soundly,  but  perhaps 
the  less  we  say  about  that  the  better,"  I  nerved  my- 
self to  reply,  trying  to  make  a  pretense  of  eating  in 
spite  of  the  nausea  with  which  the  rank  stuffiness  of 
the  place  nearly  overcame  me. 

For  some  reason  my  answer,  with  its  suggestion  of 
a  modified  playfulness,  pleased  the  captain,  and  he 
laughed  boisterously. 

"Funny  thing,  when  you  come  to  think  of  it,"  he 
said,  "a  Chancellor  of  the  Exchequer  going  in  for 


OPENING  THE  ENVELOPE  211 

tempting  a  poor  honest  sailor-man  into  the  smuggling 
trade.  Spends  all  his  time  hindering  contraband, 
and  then  goes  into  the  business  himself.  Makes  a 
difference,  I  reckon,  when  it's  outward-bound  smug- 
gling, and  the  goods  is  a  pretty  girl. ' ' 

"Did  Sir  Gideon  Marske  leave  any  message  for 
me?"  I  asked,  ignoring  his  coarse  reference  to  my 
forcible  detention  on  board. 

"Not  a  word,  unless  it's  in  a  certain  little  envelope 
he  gave  me— the  sealed  orders  I  spoke  of,  and  not  to 
be  opened  till  we're  past  Brighton,"  replied  the  cap- 
tain. And  again  he  broke  into  a  noisy  guffaw,  which 
only  died  away  when  he  found  it  necessary  to  wipe 
his  mouth  on  his  coat-sleeve.  "See  here,"  he  went 
on,  "do  you  know  what  was  making  me  laugh?  It 
was  the  way  that  starchy  old  cove  was  trying  to  look 
like  a  chap  that's  given  a  blind  beggar  sixpence  as  he 
walked  off  along  the  dock.  A  pious  fraud,  he  is, 
missy,  but  he's  my  paymaster,  and  a  good  'un,  so  don't 
you  try  to  run  athwart  my  hawse." 

The  scowl  that  accompanied  the  concluding  words 
constituted  them  a  threat,  and  I  parried  the  thrust 
by  shaking  my  head  in  silly  fashion,  as  though  I  did 
not  understand.  Captain  Belcher  appeared  to  be  sat- 
isfied with  my  submissiveness,  and  presently  rose  and 
signed  to  the  mate  to  follow  him  up  to  the  deck.  At 
the  foot  of  the  companion  he  halted  and  looked  round 
at  me.  The  expression  on  his  face  was  a  leer  and  a 
smirk  combined.  It  horrified  me. 

"Go  where  you  like  on  the  ship,"  he  said.  "Or 
out  of  it,  if  you  prefer  to  jump  overboard, ' '  he  added 
with  a  hideous  grin.  "From  what  your  distinguished 


212  MILLIONS  OF  MISCHIEF 

patron  let  drop,  I  reckon  he  wouldn't  blame  me  for 
such  an  accident." 

I  could  well  understand  that  Sir  Gideon  Marske 
would  be  delighted  to  hear  that  there  was  an  end  of 
me,  and  I  quite  expected  that  the  "sealed  orders" 
which  Captain  Belcher  was  to  open  later  in  the  day 
contained  instructions  which  would  change  the  ruf- 
fian's bullying  good-humor  to  a  more  dangerous  mood. 
That  he  was  utterly  unscrupulous,  as  well  as  under 
the  thumb  of  the  Marskes,  and  well  paid  by  them  for 
his  present  job,  was  painfully  obvious. 

And  when  a  little  later,  taking  advantage  of  his 
permission,  I  went  on  deck,  I  had  no  doubt  that  the 
crew  had  been  selected  with  an  eye  to  unquestioning 
subservience  to  his  orders,  no  matter  what  they  might 
be.  A  more  hangdog  set  of  cut-throats  surely  could 
not  have  been  collected  in  the  purlieus  of  any  seaport 
in  the  world.  For  the  credit  of  my  country,  I  was 
glad  to  find  that  the  round  dozen  of  them,  with  the 
exception  of  a  drunken  Scotch  engineer  and  the  semi- 
imbecile  Irish  mate,  were  all  foreigners— Spaniards, 
Greeks,  and  Lascars. 

The  haze  that  I  had  noticed  earlier  in  the  morning 
had  all  rolled  away,  and  the  August  sun  beat  fiercely 
out  of  a  brassy  sky  as  the  Nightshade  ploughed  her 
way  down  Channel.  Either  her  engines  were  not 
capable  of  any  great  speed  or  Captain  Belcher  was  in 
no  hurry,  for  it  was  noon  before  we  passed  Dunge- 
ness,  and  I  knew  that  it  would  be  quite  late  in  the 
afternoon  before  we  arrived  off  Brighton,  and  the 
fateful  missive  in  Belcher's  possession  was  opened. 

Dinner  was  served  at  one  o'clock,  under  the  same 


OPENING  THE  ENVELOPE  213 

conditions  as  breakfast,  with  the  disquieting  differ- 
ence that  the  captain  had  evidently  been  drinking  dur- 
ing the  morning.  In  fact,  I  had  seen  Antonio,  the 
steward,  paying  frequent  visits  to  the  bridge  with  a 
black  bottle  and  a  glass.  The  effect  of  Belcher's 
potations  was  in  one  way  satisfactory,  inasmuch  as  he 
was  morosely  silent,  devouring  his  food  greedily  and 
scowling  at  the  red-headed  mate,  to  whom  he  seemed 
to  have  taken  a  dislike. 

He  only  addressed  me  once,  and  that  was  when  he 
was  rising  from  the  table.  Tapping  the  breast- 
pocket of  his  coat,  he  looked  down  at  me  as  he  spoke 
in  a  bemused  sort  of  way. 

"You're  wondering  what's  in  the  sealed  orders, 
eh?"  he  said.  "Well,  so  am  I.  What  d'you  say  to 
opening  it  now?  That  giddy  old  Gideon '11  never 
know.  Take  time  by  the  forelock,  eh?" 

"You  must,  of  course,  do  as  you  like,"  I  replied. 
"But  from  my  experience  of  Sir  Gideon  Marske,  I 
should  imagine  that  you  would  find  it  more  advisable 
to  wait  till  the  time  he  appointed.  He  has  a  knack 
of  finding  out  things." 

Captain  Belcher's  answer  was  a  horrible  frown  at 
being  crossed,  but  he  thought  better  of  it  and  went 
on  deck  without  any  further  proposal  to  forestall  his 
orders,  and  my  object,  which  was  time,  was  gained. 
I  was  in  no  haste  to  have  that  loathsome  creature  in 
full  possession  of  Sir  Gideon's  wishes  as  to  my  dis- 
posal ;  and  that  moment,  when  Belcher  was  in  a  state 
of  drunken  surliness,  seemed  the  last  one  to  choose. 

Nevertheless,  afraid  though  I  was  of  him,  I  was 
reluctant  to  abandon  all  hope  of  escape  by  remaining 


214  MILLIONS  OF  MISCHIEF 

below,  so  after  a  while  I  ventured  on  deck  again, 
and  all  through  the  hot  afternoon  prayed  that  one 
of  the  many  white-winged  yachts  flitting  hither  and 
thither  might  approach  within  hail.  But  I  soon  be- 
came aware  that  Captain  Belcher  had  no  intention  of 
permitting  any  such  chance  to  be  accorded  to  me. 
The  vessel  was  steered  from  the  bridge,  and  when- 
ever she  was  in  the  vicinity  of  other  craft  the  captain 
would  take  the  wheel  from  the  helmsman  and  edge 
further  away.  Once,  when  a  smart  yawl  luffed  so 
rapidly  as  to  bring  her  tearing  at  racing  speed  toward 
us,  he  caught  my  eye  and  made  a  motion  with  his 
hand  as  though  I  should  look  behind  me.  I  did  so, 
and  with  difficulty  choked  down  a  scream.  Crouch- 
ing below  the  level  of  the  bulwalks,  so  as  to  be  invisi- 
ble from  the  yacht,  and  within  two  feet  of  me,  was 
one  of  the  swarthy  Spaniards,  with  a  long  keen  blade 
poised  straight  at  my  back. 

I  understood  the  menacing  dumb-show,  and  allowed 
the  yawl,  with  her  deckload  of  laughing  girls  and 
spruce  young  men,  to  shoot  under  our  counter  with- 
out raising  the  cry  for  help  that  had  been  quivering 
on  my  lips.  The  Spaniard  sneaked  away  from  me, 
showing  his  teeth  in  a  cruel  snarl,  while  on  the  bridge 
Belcher  chuckled  audibly.  After  that  I  gave  up  all 
interest  in  passing  vessels,  and  sadly  watched  the 
green  coast  line  of  Sussex  slipping  by. 

It  was  about  six  o'clock  when  Belcher  came  down 
from  the  bridge  and  pointed  to  rows  of  windows  and 
roofs  glistening  in  the  sun  two  miles  away  across  the 
calm  sea. 

"That's  Brighton,"  he  said  with  grim  significance. 


OPENING  THE  ENVELOPE  215 

"I  know  that.  I  can  make  out  the  Pavilion  and 
the  pier, ' '  I  answered,  summoning  all  my  fortitude. 

"Well,  then,  here  goes  for  the  sealed  orders,"  he 
continued,  producing  an  envelope  from  the  inside 
pocket  of  the  tweed  coat  that  made  him  look  more 
like  a  country  station-master  than  a  sailor.  "You'll 
bear  me  out,  next  time  you  see  Sir  Gideon,  that  I 
didn't  start  on  it  before  he  was  ready.  Now  for  the 
surprise  packet." 

He  tore  the  envelope  open  and  eagerly  perused  the 
closely-written  sheet  of  notepaper  it  contained.  As 
he  read  his  brows  puckered,  and  once  or  twice  he 
looked  up  at  me  with  such  a  sinister  expression  that  I 
felt  inclined  to  take  him  at  his  word  and  end  my 
troubles  by  leaping  into  the  sea.  Only  the  thought 
deterred  me  that  on  my  slender  chance  of  escape  de- 
pended Arthur's  liberty  and  life.  Having  read 
to  the  end,  the  captain  emitted  a  low  whistle  and  re- 
placed the  document  in  his  pocket,  again  glancing 
strangely  at  me. 

"Now  you  can  tell  me  where  you  are  going  to  put 
me  ashore,"  I  faltered,  for  at  that  moment  I  failed 
to  preserve  a  bold  front  before  what  I  saw  in  the 
man's  eyes. 

"Put  you  ashore?"  he  repeated,  with  a  diabolical 
sneer.  "You'd  best  get  that  out  of  your  mind  at 
once,  missy,  for  there's  a  long  trip— a  very  long  trip 
— ahead  of  you.  It  rests  with  you,  seemingly  from 
what's  writ  here,  quite  how  long  it's  to  be,  but  you're 
to  settle  that  with  the  other  passenger  that's  coming 
aboard  to-morrow.  He's  to  have  a  say  in  the  business, 
it  appears,  and  after  that  7  come  in." 


216  MILLIONS  OF  MISCHIEF 

"With  which  enigmatic  utterance  he  returned  to  the 
bridge,  and  I  noticed  that  immediately  afterward  the 
steamer's  course  was  slightly  altered. 


CHAPTER  XXVIII 

DEATH-WARRANT OR  WORSE  ? 

IAPTAIN  BELCHER'S  horrible  words  left 
me  rooted  to  the  spot,  so  charged  were  they 
with  hideous  meaning.  Who  was  the  other 
passenger  expected  to  join  the  ship  on  the 
morrow?  What  was  it  that  I  was  to  "settle"  with 
him?  Naturally  my  fears  reverted  to  Roger  Marske, 
and  the  prospect  of  being  again  at  the  mercy  of  the 
man  who  had  nearly  succeeded  in  burning  me  to  death 
at  the  Mill  House  was  appalling.  But  still  more  so 
was  Belcher's  concluding  sentence:  "After  that  I 
come  in. "  A  whole  world  of  terrible  possibilities  was 
wrapped  up  in  that  simple  phrase. 

I  was  consumed  with  an  overwhelming  desire  to 
know  the  worst,  and  that  could  only  be  done  by  some- 
how obtaining  a  sight  of  the  paper  in  Captain 
Belcher's  pocket.  The  perusal  of  it  seemed  to  have 
created  a  demand  for  his  favorite  stimulant,  for  An- 
tonio was  climbing  the  bridge  ladder  with  the  black 
bottle  and  glass.  The  spectacle  inspired  me  with  an 
idea.  If  only  the  captain  would  get  incapably  drunk, 
I  might  achieve  my  purpose  in  time  to  be  prepared 

217 


218  MILLIONS  OF  MISCHIEF 

for  what  was  coining  on  the  morrow.  I  was  thank- 
ful for  that  brief  respite. 

For  the  present,  in  spite  of  his  potations,  Captain 
Belcher  was  very  far  from  being  incapable.  He  had 
taken  the  wheel  himself,  and  his  dirty  fingers  clutched 
the  spokes  and  twirled  it  with  no  uncertain  grasp. 
Gradually  the  steamer  edged  nearer  and  nearer  to  the 
Sussex  shore,  and,  passing  close  to  Selsea  Bill,  bore 
round  toward  Hayling  Island  and  the  narrow  en- 
trance to  the  series  of  lonely  creeks  that  is  dignified 
with  the  inappropriate  name  of  Chichester  Harbor. 
I  had  once  spent  a  summer  holiday  sketching  at  that 
artists'  paradise,  Bosham,  and  knew  the  locality  well. 

In  the  gathering  dusk  the  Nightshade  slipped  into 
the  opening,  and,  with  a  man  taking  soundings  every 
minute,  threaded  her  way  through  several  winding 
creeks  till  the  shores  on  either  hand  hemmed  us  in 
without  sign  of  an  outlet.  We  seemed  to  be  steaming 
in  the  middle  of  a  cornfield  ripening  for  the  sickle. 
Occasionally  we  hugged  the  land  so  close  that  the 
trees  nearly  brushed  our  masts,  and  then,  suddenly, 
we  came  to  broader  water  and  east  anchor  in  a  sort  of 
lagoon  opposite  a  ruined  custom-house,  long  since  dis- 
used. I  had  a  picture  of  it  somewhere,  painted  in 
happier  days. 

Save  for  the  Nightshade,  that  bend  of  the  creek 
was  devoid  of  craft  of  any  kind.  It  is  very  seldom  that 
a  steamer  enters  those  land-locked  labyrinthine  waters, 
and  the  few  sailing  coasters  that  pass  through  them 
seek  anchorage  still  further  inland,  at  Bosham  or 
Chichester.  A  more  secluded  spot  for  a  vessel  bound 
on  a  nefarious  enterprise  to  await  a  mysterious  pas- 


DEATH-WARRANT— OR  WORSE?        219 

senger  could  not  have  been  found  in  the  British  Isles. 
Out  of  sight  of  all  ocean  traffic,  and  even  invisible 
from  the  beats  of  coastguards,  the  steamer  would  have 
no  prying  eyes  to  observe  her;  for  the  fishermen  of 
Bosham  and  Chichester,  passing  to  and  from  the  open 
sea,  were  not  likely  to  indulge  in  more  than  idle  spec- 
ulation, if  they  troubled  about  the  matter  at  all. 

When  the  ship  had  swung  to  her  anchor  on  the 
fast  ebbing  tide,  Captain  Belcher  came  down  from 
the  bridge,  and  his  appearance  on  deck  was  the  signal 
for  me  to  beat  a  hasty  retreat  below.  His  condition 
by  this  time  precluded  all  possibility  of  my  sitting 
down  to  another  meal  with  him  in  the  cuddy,  and, 
darting  through  it  into  my  own  cabin,  I  shut  the  door 
and  set  my  foot  against  it.  In  a  few  minutes  my 
heart  was  set  thumping  by  Belcher's  voice  outside. 

"Come  out,  missy,  and  have  some  grub,"  he 
shouted. 

"Thank  you,  I  do  not  need  anything.  I  have  a 
bad  headache  and  wish  to  lie  down, ' '  I  replied. 

"That  be  d— d  for  a  yarn.  May  as  well  be  civil 
first  as  last.  Come  on  out,  or  I'll  open  the  door  and 
fetch  you,"  bellowed  the  captain. 

Then  I  shot  a  bow  at  a  venture,  hating  myself  the 
while  for  invoking  the  aid  of  that  unknown  expected 
passenger,  who  might  be  bringing  greater  terror  upon 
me  than  this  blatant  ruffian  wielded.  "The  person 
mentioned  in  Sir  Gideon  Marske's  instructions  will 
know  how  to  deal  with  you  if  you  attempt  any  such 
outrage, ' '  I  made  answer,  clenching  my  hands  to  keep 
the  tremolo  from  my  voice. 

Whether  I  succeeded  in  that  or  not,  the  hint  was 


220  MILLIONS  OF  MISCHIEF 

effective  for  the  moment,  though  his  manner  of  yield- 
ing added  to  my  apprehensions  for  the  future. 

"All  right,  my  beauty,  have  it  your  own  way  to- 
night. I'll  tame  you  when  my  turn  comes,"  he  yelled 
through  the  door. 

His  lurch  to  the  table  was  followed  by  the  clatter 
of  crockery  and  by  oaths  directed  at  Antonio,  the 
steward,  and  0  'Brien,  the  mate.  My  imaginary  head- 
ache would  have  fared  badly  had  it  been  a  real  one, 
such  a  din  of  wrangling  assailed  my  ears  from  the 
noisome  feeding-place  of  those  wild  beasts  outside,  but 
I  hailed  their  rowdiness  with  gladness.  As  their 
speech  grew  thicker  and  the  quarrelsome  mood 
changed  to  maudlin  incoherence  I  had  greater  hope 
of  getting  a  peep  at  the  no  longer  sealed  orders. 

Presently  a  request  by  Belcher  shed  a  ray  of  light 
on  the  relations  subsisting  between  Captain  Belcher 
and  his  second  in  command. 

"Tip  us  a  song,  old  shipmate,"  he  yelled.  "You 
used  to  tune  up  like  a  nightingale,  that  voyage  in  the 
South  Seas,  when  we  chucked  the  blackbirds  over- 
board before  we  were  overhauled  by  that  cursed  gun- 
boat. Two  hundred  niggers  walking  into  the  briny 
on  the  starboard  side  of  the  old  schooner,  while  a 
smug  lieutenant  in  a  launch  full  of  blue-jackets  was 
sweating  toward  the  port  gangway.  Lordy,  but  that 
was  a  squeak." 

"If  it  hadn't  been  for  you  bashing  some  of  the 
last  ones  on  the  head  as  they  jumped,  there 'd  have 
been  things  alongside  to  tell  tales,"  sniggered  the 
mate. 

From  what  I  could  make  of  their  jargon,  they  had 


DEATH-WARRANT— OR  WORSE?        221 

been  engaged  together  formerly  in  the  illicit  coolie 
traffic  in  the  Pacific,  and  had  murdered  their  cargo 
to  prevent  detection  by  an  English  man-of-war.  Such 
were  the  men  who,  at  the  instance  of  Sir  Gideon 
Marske,  were  charged  with  the  task  of  silencing  a 
weak  girl.  Truly  my  prospect  of  saving  Arthur  and, 
incidentally,  of  exposing  the  plot  against  Lord 
Alphington,  was  of  the  slightest.  And  my  own  case  ? 
I  tried  to  put  all  thought  of  it  from  me,  praying  that 
my  own  end  might  be  no  worse  than  that  of  the  poor 
coolies  whom  Belcher  had  killed  in  cold  blood  far 
away  in  the  southern  seas. 

The  Irishman  sang  a  couple  of  atrocious  ditties  that 
sent  my  fingers  to  my  tingling  ears,  and  then  the 
tinkle  of  glass,  the  blasphemous  orders  to  the  steward, 
and  finally  the  swinish  snores  of  the  pair  told  me  that 
the  orgie  was  complete. 

For  some  time  I  heard  the  pid-pad  of  Antonio's 
feet  as  he  hurried  about,  collecting  bottles  and  glasses 
and  tidying  up  the  scene  of  the  debauch.  Then  the 
sound  of  his  footsteps  mounting  the  ladder  reached 
me,  and  I  knew  that  there  was  a  clear  field  for  my 
attempt  to  learn  my  fate  if  I  could  summon  up 
courage  to  venture  forth. 

Acting  on  the  principle  that  suspense  is  often  worse 
than  the  reality,  I  only  waited  long  enough  to  be  sure 
that  the  steward  was  not  going  to  return,  and  then 
I  softly  opened  my  cabin  door.  The  swing  lamp  in 
the  cuddy  shone  on  just  such  a  scene  as  I  had  antici- 
pated and  hoped  for.  Belcher  lay  upon  the  floor 
breathing  heavily,  his  purple  face  upturned  to  the 
ceiling,  while  the  mate's  head  had  fallen  forward  on 


222  MILLIONS  OF  MISCHIEF 

to  the  table  and  rested  on  his  grimy  hands.  Both  men 
were  sleeping  the  sound  slumber  of  intoxication,  and 
I  stole  forward  into  the  reeking  air  of  the  cuddy. 

Mastering  the  loathing  I  felt  at  having  to  touch  the 
beast,  I  stooped  over  Belcher  and  quickly  extracted 
the  envelope  from  his  breast-pocket.  On  the  half- 
sheet  of  notepaper  which  it  contained,  written  in  a 
crabbed  hand,  and  almost  undecipherable  by  the 
murky  light  of  the  cuddy  lamp,  were  the  following 
words: — 

"Rendezvous,  Chichester  Harbor,  off  old  Custom 
House.  Thursday  night  watch  clump  of  trees  left  of 
creek  from  ten  o'clock.  A  lantern  waved  three  times 
will  mean  that  you  are  to  send  a  boat  to  that  spot  to 
fetch  some  one  who  will  come  aboard  and  make  terms 
with  the  girl.  You  will  be  guided  by  his  instructions, 
whether  he  elects  to  remain  on  board  and  sail  with 
you  or  not.  But  if  the  lantern  is  waved  six  times,  or 
in  the  event  of  its  not  being  waved  at  all  before  mid- 
night, you  will  at  once  steam  away  and  act  as  you 
please  with  the  girl,  provided  that  she  is  not  heard  of 
again. ' ' 

This  was  Wednesday  night,  I  reflected,  as  I  stole 
back  to  my  cabin  after  restoring  the  envelope  and  its 
mystical  contents  to  the  drunken  man's  pocket.  I 
had  a  little  over  twenty-four  hours  before  I  should 
be  called  on  to  face  the  alternative  foreshadowed  in 
Sir  Gideon  Marske's  "sealed  orders." 


I  Quickly  Extracted  the  Envelope." 

(Page  222) 


CHAPTER  XXIX 

WAVING  THE  LANTERN 

PASS  over  the  slow  agony  of  that  night,  and 
of  the  following  day,  which,  so  far  as  its 
actual  events  were  concerned,  was  an  im- 
provement on  the  preceding  one.  For,  pre- 
sumably with  the  prospect  of  serious  work  in  the  even- 
ing, Captain  Belcher  kept  himself  fairly  sober,  and 
the  sour-visaged  Antonio  had  quite  a  holiday  from  "bot- 
tle-carrying. Still  pleading  indisposition,  I  received  a 
surly  assent  from  the  captain  to  take  my  meals  on 
deck,  and  so  escaped  the  ordeal  of  his  society  in  the 
cuddy. 

I  think,  too,  that  he  was  apprehensive,  now  that  he 
had  slept  off  the  effects  of  his  debauch,  of  what  Sir 
Gideon  Marske's  emissary  might  have  to  say  to  any 
premature  ill-usage  of  me,  for  he  seldom  addressed  me 
as  he  lounged  about  the  deck,  and  then  only  in  curt 
monosyllables  such  as,  "Fine  day,"  or  "Fresh 
breeze."  But  the  glances  which  I  sometimes  sur- 
prised cast  by  him  in  my  direction  made  me  tremble 
for  what  would  come  if  "the  girl  would  not  make 
terms,"  and  I  was  handed  over  to  him  to  act  "as  he 
pleased,  provided  I  was  never  heard  of  again." 

223 


224  MILLIONS  OF  MISCHIEF 

And  now,  as  the  dusk  of  evening  fell  on  the  silent, 
land-locked  creek,  and  the  cormorants  that  had  been 
fishing  in  the  shallows  winged  their  flight  homeward, 
I  leaned  over  the  bulwarks  and  gazed  at  the  clump 
of  trees  indicated  in  the  "sealed  orders."  Whether 
the  latter  were  actually  penned  by  Sir  Gideon  Marske 
or  by  his  son,  they  showed  an  intimacy  of  acquaint- 
ance with  the  locality  which  suggested  that  Roger 
Marske  was  their  real  author.  I  knew  that  he  had 
spent  much  of  his  idle  life  in  yachting  on  the  south 
coast,  and  I  had  once  heard  him  describing  the 
peculiarities  of  this  series  of  tidal  lagoons  to  Lady 
Muriel. 

The  remembrance  of  that  staunch  friend  and  ally 
sent  my  thoughts  flying  back  to  the  pretty  Isle  of 
Wight  village,  and  set  me  wondering,  as  indeed  I  had 
never  ceased  to  wonder,  what  had  happened  and  was 
happening  to  my  poor  Arthur.  Had  he  succeeded  in 
prolonging  his  deception  of  that  mysterious  Herzog 
that  he  was  a  willing  instrument  against  Lord 
Alphington?  And,  if  so,  had  he  so  far  escaped  the 
still  graver  peril  of  being  identified  as  the  fugitive 
from  Winchester  Jail?  Above  all,  had  Roger 
Marske,  now  that  he  was  free  from  my  pursuit,  used 
his  knowledge  to  put  the  authorities  on  Arthur 's  track 
and  effect  his  recapture? 

I  hardly  thought  that  he  would  dare  to  go  that 
length,  greatly  as  it  would  be  to  the  interest  of  his 
own  safety  to  have  the  sentence  of  the  court  carried 
out.  For  he  would  guess  that  Arthur  was  aware  of 
the  reason  of  my  journey  to  London,  and,  if  re-ar- 
rested, would  make  an  accusation  against  him  which, 


WAVING  THE  LANTERN  225 

though  probably  ineffectual,  would  at  least  be 
awkward. 

If  the  worst  had  come  to  the  worst,  and  Arthur 
had  been  driven  to  his  last  defenses,  I  could  only 
pray  that  my  dear  hunted  lover  had  confided  in  Lady 
Muriel,  in  whose  sweet  sympathy  I  had  alone  found 
comfort  during  the  past  sad  weeks.  And  if  she,  in 
turn,  would  call  in  the  aid  of  that  nice  boy  Kalph 
Garden,  the  alliance  might  prove  too  strong  for  the 
enemy.  I  knew  that  Muriel  and  Ralph  had  a  secret 
understanding,  and  that  the  honest  young  soldier 
would  have  been  my  friend's  accepted  lover  long  ago 
but  for  Lord  Alphington's  blind  prejudice  in  favor 
of  the  son  of  his  colleague,  Sir  Gideon. 

I  was  recalled  from  these  hopes  and  fears  by  the 
sudden  approach  of  Captain  Belcher,  who  had  come 
up  from  the  cuddy  after  his  evening  meal.  Though 
his  sobriety  was  ominous  of  trouble  ahead,  I  was 
thankful  for  the  moment  that  he  had  not  repeated  the 
indulgence  of  the  previous  night.  There  was  still, 
however,  that  disquieting  stare  in  his  evil  eyes — a 
stare  to  make  a  defenseless  woman's  blood  run  cold. 

"Nice  fine  night,  ain't  it,  missy?  Hope  you've 
been  enjoying  it,"  he  said,  comprehending  the  peace- 
ful ripple  of  the  creek  and  the  darkening  landscape 
beyond  with  a  sweep  of  the  hand  that  had  "bashed 
the  niggers"  as  they  were  driven  overboard  to  drown. 

"I  have  been  enjoying  the  quiet,"  I  replied  shortly. 

"Ah,  you're  getting  at  me  over  the  racket  last 
night,"  he  chuckled.  "The  ships  that  Bill  Belcher 
commands  ain't  exactly  Sunday  Schools,  as  you'll 
find  out  when  the  trip  is  a  little  older.  What  I  was 


226  MILLIONS  OF  MISCHIEF 

driving  at  was  that  you  can't  enjoy  the  night  up 
here  any  longer.  Things  will  be  humming  on  deck 
presently,  and  I  must  trouble  you  to  go  below  to  your 
cabin." 

"Certainly,  I  have  no  desire  to  stay,"  I  replied, 
and  moved  away  to  the  companion-ladder,  pausing 
there  for  a  moment  to  take  a  last  look  round.  The 
captain  was  climbing  to  the  bridge,  doubtless  to  watch 
for  the  signal  from  the  shore;  smoke  was  beginning 
to  issue  from  the  funnel  from  the  fires  which  had 
been  banked  up  all  day,  and  the  villainous  crew  were 
clustering  forward.  The  signs  pointed  to  prepara- 
tion for  departure,  and  I  descended  to  my  cabin,  glad 
that  its  position  would  enable  me  to  see  the  signal. 
The  port-hole  faced  the  clump  of  trees  whence  pres- 
ently would  be  spelt  out  the  message  that  meant  so 
much  to  me.  Belcher,  in  his  ignorance  that  I  had 
perused  his  instructions,  would  not  know  that  I  was 
on  guard. 

It  was  nearly  ten  o'clock,  and  any  time  after  the 
hour  the  lantern  might  be  waved— three  times  to  de- 
note the  advent  of  the  person  who  was  to  make  terms 
with  me,  and  six  times  if  the  Nightshade  was  to  steam 
away  with  Belcher  as  the  arbiter  of  my  fate.  If  the 
waver  of  the  lantern  elected  to  come  on  board  as  a 
passenger,  who  would  he  prove  to  be  ?  Who  else  could 
it  be  but  Roger  Marske  ?  And  what  mischief  had  he 
been  wreaking  since  he  had  arranged  with  Belcher 
for  my  reception  after  his  pretended  flight  from 
Marske  Hall?  My  heart  misgave  me  lest  he  should 
have  employed  the  interval  in  hounding  Arthur  down, 
for  if  he  had  not  had  some  villainous  work  to  do  he 


WAVING  THE  LANTERN  227 

could  have  sailed  from  the  docks,  without  the  neces- 
sity for  this  out-of-the-way  rendezvous. 

The  night  was  fine,  with  a  three-quarter  moon  ris- 
ing in  a  placid  sky,  so  that  the  larger  objects  on  shore 
were  plainly  outlined.  Stationing  myself  at  the  port- 
hole, I  kept  my  eyes  fixed  on  the  dark  group  of  elms, 
which,  I  had  ascertained  in  the  daytime,  grew  nearly 
down  to  the  water's  edge,  and  which  now,  as  the  slow 
minutes  passed  and  the  moon  rose  higher,  stood  out 
in  clear-cut  relief.  But  the  moon  being  behind  the 
trees,  the  narrow  strip  of  land  between  them  and  the 
creek  was  in  darkness,  and  strain  my  eyes  as  I  would 
I  could  not  penetrate  the  gloom  sufficiently  to  have 
distinguished  a  human  figure  there.  I  should  have 
to  possess  my  soul  in  patience  till  the  new  arrival 
reached  the  steamer  before  clearing  up  the  all-im- 
portant question  of  his  identity. 

Eleven  o'clock  passed  without  the  signal  being 
made,  and  I  began  to  fear  that  the  third  alternative 
provided  for  in  Belcher's  instructions  would  become 
operative.  If  the  lantern  were  not  waved  at  all  by 
midnight  he  was  to  take  it  as  equivalent  to  the  six 
waves  and  steam  away,  thenceforward  having  sole 
control  of  my  fate.  How  that  control  would  be  exer- 
cised did  not  bear  thinking  of. 

And  then  suddenly,  as  my  watch  told  me  that  it 
was  twenty  minutes  to  twelve,  I  thought  that  I  de- 
tected a  flicker  of  light,  as  of  a  match  being  struck 
among  the  trees.  I  waited  breathlessly,  knowing  that 
the  supreme  crisis  had  come,  yet  undecided,  in  my 
ignorance  of  who  was  lighting  the  lantern,  whether 
I  wanted  the  three  flashes  or  six.  If  it  was  Roger 


228  MILLIONS  OF  MISCHIEF 

Marske  out  there  among  the  trees  I  should  be  in  bad 
case  either  way,  and  Roger  Marske  it  must  be  for 
certain. 

Intense  silence  had  reigned  on  deck  for  the  last 
hour,  showing  that  Belcher  and  the  crew  were  watch- 
ing for  the  signal,  but  now  a  hoarse  cry  from  above 
showed  that  the  sailors'  eyes  were  as  sharp  as  mine. 
The  flicker  grew  into  a  steady  flame,  which,  carried 
by  unseen  hands,  advanced  to  the  water's  edge  and 
waved : 

Once.    From  right  to  left. 

Twice.     From  left  to  right. 

Thrice.     From  right  to  left  again. 

Ah  me !  Would  there  be  a  fourth  and  a  fifth  and 
a  sixth?  Would  that  horrid  pendulum  go  on  or 
cease  ?  My  beating  heart  and  aching  eyes  waited  for 
the  answer— a  lifetime,  it  seemed,  but  in  reality  only 
for  the  second  that  it  took  the  wielder  of  the  lantern 
to  blow  it  out. 

For  at  the  third  wave  the  signal  ceased,  and  I  knew 
that  he  who  was  to  "make  terms"  with  me  was  com- 
ing aboard.  Almost  simultaneously  Belcher's  hoarse 
order  to  lower  a  boat  was  heard,  and  a  minute  later 
the  splash  of  oars  told  that  Sir  Gideon's  instructions 
were  being  obeyed.  Then  the  boat  shot  into  view  and 
pulled  across  the  moonlit  creek  straight  for  the  clump 
of  trees.  I  gave  my  eyes  no  rest  when  it  disappeared 
into  the  shadows  of  the  shore,  for  I  think  that  in  the 
course  of  my  life  I  have  never  gazed  so  eagerly  and 
yet  so  fearfully  as  when  I  watched  for  that  boat's 
return. 

It  came  at  last,  gliding  from  the  darkness  into  the 


WAVING  THE  LANTERN  229 

shimmering  ripple  of  the  tideway,  and  I  saw  at  once, 
when  she  was  still  a  hundred  yards  off,  that  she  con- 
tained a  man  in  addition  to  the  two  rowers.  He  was 
sitting  in  the  stern,  but,  with  the  light  behind  him, 
it  was  impossible  to  recognize  his  features  at  that 
distance.  I  could  understand  that  Belcher  overhead 
was  peering  as  eagerly  as  I,  since  he  had  not  been 
enlightened  in  his  instructions  as  to  the  visitor's 
identity. 

And  then,  as  the  boat  approached  the  steamer  and 
rounded-to  to  come  alongside,  my  suspense  was  ended 
and  my  bewilderment  increased.  The  man  in  the 
stern  was  not  Roger  Marske  at  all.  A  moonbeam  fell 
full  on  his  face  and  showed  him  to  be  that  terrible 
Herzog,  who,  with  such  deadly  intent,  had  contrived 
Arthur's  escape  from  prison. 


T 


CHAPTER  XXX 

HEEZOQ  PACES  BOTH  WAYS 

|HE  advent  of  Herzog  was  utterly  inexplicable 
to  me.  What  could  there  be  in  common  be- 
tween the  ruthless  conspirator  who  desired 
the  death  of  the  Prime  Minister,  and  a  mem- 
ber of  Lord  Alphington  's  Cabinet  ?  Yet  I  had  seen  it 
written,  if  not  by  Sir  Gideon  Marske  himself,  at  any 
rate  with  his  knowledge,  that  the  person  who  would 
join  the  ship  in  that  lonely  arm  of  the  sea  would  do  so 
with  his  approval,  charged  with  the  business  of  making 
terms  with  me.  Which  surely  must  point  to  collusion 
between  Sir  Gideon  and  Herzog. 

In  such  a  tangled  maze  speculation  was  idle,  and 
I  listened  intently  for  the  reception  of  Herzog  by 
Captain  Belcher.  It  was  of  supreme  interest  to  learn 
whether  the  two  men  who  held  my  fate  in  the  balance 
were  previously  acquainted  with  each  other.  Much 
might  depend  on  that. 

The  boat  rasped  along  the  steamer's  side,  and  I 
heard  the  "flop"  of  the  rope  accommodation  ladder 
as  it  was  flung  down  for  the  newcomer  to  climb  on 
board.  There  followed  the  plethoric  breathing  of  a 
stout  man  exerting  himself,  and  a  moment  later  Cap- 

230 


HERZOG  FACES  BOTH  WAYS          231 

tain  Belcher's  husky  tones  reached  me  in  the  ex- 
clamation— 

"By  golly,  then  you  ain't  the  cove  I  took  you  for. 
I  expected  the  old  boy's  son— Mr.  Roger  Marske." 

"I  come  as  Mr.  Roger  Marske 's  substitute.  He 
has  been  unfortunately  detained,  but  I  have  full 
powers  to  treat  with  the  lady,"  came  Herzog's  reply, 
plainly  heard  in  the  still  night  air.  And  then,  as 
they  moved  away  from  the  side,  the  conversation 
tailed  off  into  unintelligible  murmurs,  to  become  al- 
most immediately  audible  again  as  host  and  guest  de- 
scended the  companion  into  the  cuddy.  I  was  sorry 
to  have  missed  the  gap  in  their  talk,  for  they  seemed 
to  have  struck  a  point  of  difference  already. 

"I  can't  do  it,"  Belcher  was  saying.  "You're  so 
jolly  late  that  the  tide  has  ebbed  too  far  for  me  to 
take  her  out  till  morning.  Besides,  I  'm  tired  of  wait- 
ing, and  want  a  drink.  Here,  Antonio,  you  black 
swab,  bring  glasses." 

"I  shall  be  delighted  to  join  you,  captain,  but  if 
you  cannot  get  away  to  the  open  sea  to-night,  I  must 
insist  on  your  weighing  anchor  and  dropping  down 
into  the  next  creek,"  came  the  answer  in  the  voice  I 
remembered  hearing  on  the  promenade  at  Totland  on 
the  day  when  Arthur  revealed  himself  to  me  in  Her- 
zog's company.  , 

"Insist  is  a  word  I  ain't  in  the  habit  of  listening 
to  on  my  own  ship,"  growled  Belcher. 

"My  dear  sir— my  dear  friend,  if  you  will  allow 
me  to  call  you  so— we  are  both  in  the  same  swim,  and 
I  can  assure  you  that  it  is  necessary  to  our  mutual 
interests  that  the  ship  should  be  moved,  if  only  round 


232  MILLIONS  OF  MISCHIEF 

the  next  bend,  for  to-night, ' '  said  Herzog  suavely  but 
firmly.  ''I  do  not  want  to  have  to  rub  it  in  that  I 
am  representing  Mr.  Roger  Marske— with  full  powers, 
mind  you." 

There  was  a  pause,  during  which  I  could  imagine 
the  disputants  looking  into  each  other's  eyes  for  the 
mastery,  and  then  came  the  surly  submission  from 
Belcher:  "It's  gospel  true,  what  I'm  telling  you 
about  the  tide,  but  I'll  up  anchor  and  try  and  work 
her  into  the  next  creek.  Like  as  not  she'll  ground 
on  the  mud. ' ' 

I  heard  the  captain  ascend  the  ladder  to  the  deck, 
and  I  was  listening  to  his  orders  to  the  crew,  when 
I  became  conscious  of  a  faint  drumming  on  the  door 
of  my  cabin.  "Miss  Chilmark,"  came  a  cautiously 
muffled  summons  through  the  panel.  For  a  moment  I 
hesitated  to  reply. 

"What  is  it?"  I  demanded,  puzzled  by  the  ap- 
parent desire  for  secrecy. 

"Will  you  not  open  to  me  for  a  moment?  There 
is  a  vital  question  to  be  settled  between  us  before  the 
captain  returns.  My  name  is  Herzog— a  friend  of 
Captain  Rivington,  and  therefore  your  friend  also. 
I  am  here  to  extricate  you  from  what  I  believe  to  be 
very  grave  peril." 

A  friend  of  Captain  Rivington  indeed— the  man 
who  held  him  in  thrall  for  the  commission  of  a  crime 
that  would  have  staggered  the  world!  Was  it  not 
natural  that  I  should  regard  his  overtures  as  rank 
treachery,  designed  to  enmesh  me  further  in  the  toils 
of  the  Marskes?  Why,  only  a  minute  ago  I  had 
heard  him  claim  to  represent  Roger  Marske  on  board. 


HERZOG  FACES  BOTH  WAYS          233 

I  laughed  bitterly  as  I  answered,  not  even  troubling 
to  moderate  my  voice. 

"Truly  a  strange  blend  of  friendships,  when  you 
are  here  as  my  friend  and  Captain  Rivington's  friend, 
and  also  on  behalf  of  Roger  Marske,  who  is  the  cause 
of  my  detention." 

"For  God's  sake,  not  so  loud,"  came  the  throaty 
appeal  through  the  door.  "I  said  that  to  hoodwink 
Belcher.  Roger  Marske  is  lying  unconscious  in 
yonder  clump  of  trees,  stunned  by  a  blow  from  my 
stick  so  that  I  might  come  on  board  alone." 

"I  cannot  believe  that,  after  what  Captain  Riving- 
ton  told  me  of  you, ' '  I  replied  firmly,  reluctant  though 
I  was  to  reject  the  glimmer  of  hope  that  ran  thrilling 
through  my  veins.  Herzog's  statement,  I  persuaded 
myself,  was  certainly  false,  but  at  any  rate  it  had 
given  me  an  exquisite  sensation  for  the  fraction  of 
a  second.  Roger  Marske  stunned  and  prevented  from 
coming  aboard.  It  was  too  good  to  be  true,  even  if 
he  had  been  laid  low  by  this  unscrupulous  schemer. 

And  then  Herzog  sprang  upon  me  a  more  powerful 
inducement.  "Look  here,  Miss  Chilmark,  won't  this 
move  you  ? ' '  came  his  appeal.  ' '  I  have  been  in  Roger 
Marske 's  flat  in  London  to-day,  and  I  there  procured 
proofs,  sure  and  incontestable,  that  he  murdered  Cap- 
tain Rivington's  mother  and  sister.  There  are  rea- 
sons why  I  cannot  present  them  to  the  authorities  my- 
self. I  want  to  concert  measures  for  doing  so 
through  you,  and  also  for  getting  you  off  this  very 
dangerous  ship." 

I  could  resist  no  longer.  It  might  be  all  lies— all 
the  cleverer  perhaps  because  they  tallied  with  the 


234  MILLIONS  OF  MISCHIEF 

truth  which  I  myself  had  learned— but  where  else 
could  I  look  for  help  ?  I  opened  the  cabin  door  just 
a  little,  and  was  confronted  by  the  perspiring  face 
of  the  man  who  had  held  Arthur's  destiny,  and  now, 
it  seemed,  held  mine,  in  his  grasp.  He  looked  as  if 
he  had  suffered  physical  discomfort  and  exertion  un- 
usual to  him,  but  his  eyes  fastened  on  me  like  search- 
lights. At  that  moment  the  engines  throbbed  and  the 
steamer  began  to  move. 

' '  Good ! "  he  ejaculated,  turning  to  listen,  and  fac- 
ing me  again.  "There  would  be  no  chance  for  us 
if  the  ship  was  in  the  creek  and  within  hail  when 
that  fox  comes  to.  Now  I  know  that  you  have  no 
cause  to  be  prepossessed  in  my  favor,  but  will  you 
give  me  a  concise  account  of  what  has  happened  to 
you  since  you  left  Totland  to  get  evidence  against 
Roger  Marske?  I  want  to  fit  it  in  with  what  I  have 
discovered,  so  that  I  may  know  how  to  present  the 
case.  We  have  five  minutes,  probably,  before  the 
captain  works  the  steamer  into  the  next  bend  and  re- 
turns to  the  cuddy." 

He  spoke  rapidly  and  with  intense  earnestness,  but 
how  could  I  judge  of  the  value  to  me  of  his  excite- 
ment? He  had  carried  out  to  the  letter  the  pro- 
gramme laid  down  in  the  "sealed  orders"  handed  by 
Sir  Gideon  to  Belcher,  and  the  chances  were  more  in 
favor  of  his  being  in  Sir  Gideon's  service  than  in 
Arthur's  and  mine.  I  regarded  his  story  as  a  ruse, 
to  obtain  from  me  the  measure  of  my  discoveries  be- 
fore deciding  how  to  deal  with  me. 

"What  is  the  nature  of  the  evidence  you  procured 
in  Roger  Marske 's  flat — merely  circumstantial  or 


HERZOG  FACES  BOTH  WAYS          235 

some  material  object?"  I  asked,  willing  to  temporize 
in  spite  of  my  doubts  of  him. 

My  question  provoked  a  sly  look  of  real  or  pre- 
tended admiration.  "Really  you  are  a  most  wonder- 
ful young  lady,"  he  said.  "A  female  mind  that  can 
discriminate  between  circumstantial  and  direct  evi- 
dence is  a  jewel  beyond  price.  It  enhances  my  regret 
that  I  must  decline  to  confide  in  you  till  you  have 
confided  in  me.  My  personal  safety  depends  upon 
what  you  have  experienced  and  discovered  since  you 
encountered  Sir  Gideon  Marske.  I  cannot  speak  till 
I  am  fully  informed." 

"Then,  as  I  cannot  trust  you,  you  will  not  have 
to  speak  at  all,"  I  said. 

He  muttered  something  impatiently,  advanced  a 
step  nearer,  but  instantly  resumed  his  polite  demeanor 
when  I  began  to  shut  the  cabin  door  in  his  face. 

"Let  me  plead  with  you  for  all  you  hold  most  dear 
—for  your  lover's  life,"  he  urged.  "If  these  proofs 
which  I  hold  are  not  forthcoming  by  to-morrow  night 
at  latest,  Arthur  Rivington  will  be  taken  and  hanged^ 
Roger  Marske  in  London  to-day  laid  information  with 
the  Home  Secretary  that  the  fugitive  was  at  Totland 
Bay,  and  I  have  reason  to  believe  that  the  place  will 
be  turned  upside  down  in  order  to  find  him.  No 
chance  will  be  given  him  for  explanation.  He  will  be 
executed  the  moment  they  get  him  back  to  jail. ' ' 

It  was  a  terrible  choice  to  be  called  upon  to  make. 
If  I  refused  Herzog's  advances  I  might  be  condemn- 
ing Arthur  to  death ;  on  the  other  hand,  if  I  accepted 
them,  I  might  be  placing  a  fresh  weapon  in  the  hands 
of  my  enemies. 


236  MILLIONS  OF  MISCHIEF 

But  the  choice  was  no  longer  mine  to  make.  I  had 
dallied  too  long,  for  the  heavy  tread  of  Captain 
Belcher  on  the  first  step  of  the  companion  ladder 
warned  me  to  close  the  door  softly.  At  the  same  time 
Herzog  stepped  swiftly  back  into  the  cuddy  with  a 
ready  greeting  for  his  host  on  his  lips. 

"You  have  managed  it  all  right  then,  captain?" 
he  said.  "If  you  could  go  one  better  and  reach  the 
open  sea  to-night  it  would  be  another  hundred  in 
your  pocket  over  the  job.  I  am  authorized  to  act  as 
paymaster  in  any  special  emergency." 

"Can't  be  done  for  any  amount  of  spondulicks," 
replied  Belcher,  evidently,  however,  impressed  if  not 
mollified  by  the  monetary  offer.  "The  tide  has  been 
too  quick  for  us,  and  you've  been  too  slow.  If  those 
lubbers  don't  drop  anchor  in  ten  seconds,  we'll  touch 
bottom.  I  should  have  stayed  to  see  the  order  carried 
out,  but  for  this  raging  thirst.  Ah,  there  she  goes. ' ' 

The  cable  rattled,  the  engines  reversed  for  half  a 
minute,  and  I  knew  that  the  Nightshade  had  taken 
up  her  new  quarters  till  the  tide  should  serve  again. 
If  only  I  could  be  sure  that  the  move  had  been  made 
lest  Roger  Marske  should  see  the  steamer  on  recover- 
ing from  the  blow  which  Herzog  alleged  that  he  had 
dealt  him,  how  happy  I  should  have  been.  How  I 
would  have  exercised  all  my  poor  wits  to  make  an- 
other opportunity  of  speaking  with  Herzog  again  be- 
fore he  slept. 

As  it  was,  the  conversation  which  ensued  between 
him  and  Belcher  left  me  in  doubt  whether  I  had  acted 
for  the  best  or  worst.  My  fears  for  Arthur  and  the 
self-distrust  born  of  my  many  blunders  inclined  me 


HERZOG  FACES  BOTH  WAYS          237 

to  take  the  latter  view,  but  all  my  feminine  instinct 
for  a  man  false  to  the  very  core  of  an  evil  heart 
swayed  me  to  the  other.  Did  not  I  know  that  Herzog 
was  a  consummate  actor,  a  finished  liar,  and  a  con- 
niver  at  assassination  ?  For  all  that,  there  was  some- 
thing in  his  personality  that  made  me  yearn  to  be  sure 
that  my  interests  and  his  were  really  identical.  With 
that  assurance  I  should  be  confident  of  victory,  and, 
above  all,  his  eyes  inscrutable,  sly,  full  of  changing 
expression  as  they  were,  never  looked  at  a  woman  as 
Captain  Belcher's  did. 

And  yet,  when  the  bottles  and  glasses  began  to  clink 
in  the  cuddy,  the  words  he  spoke  were  so  callous,  so 
brutal,  that  my  only  consolation  was  that  he  might 
be  playing  a  part  for  the  deception  of  Belcher,  and 
possibly  for  the  purpose  of  inducing  me  to  confide  in 
him.  All  the  captain's  talk  was  directed  at  ascer- 
taining what  probability  there  was  of  my  being  left 
on  board  at  his  disposal.  Herzog,  while  parrying  all 
direct  questions,  discussed  me  as  though  I  had  been 
a  bale  of  goods. 

"Come!"  he  said  at  last;  "show  me  where  I  can 
turn  in  for  a  little  sleep.  I  cannot  make  any  definite 
arrangements  about  the  girl  till  I  have  seen  her  in 
the  morning.  If  she  is  wise,  you  will  have  to  put  us 
both  ashore  in  the  Isle  of  Wight;  if  she  is  a  fool  I 
shall  land  alone,  and  you  can  take  her  to  the  devil. ' ' 

"Then  I'm  all  right  for  a  jolly  trip,"  hiccoughed 
Belcher.  "There  ain't  no  question  but  what  the 
wench  is  a  fool,  and  I  don't  care  if  she's  listening 
t'other  side  of  that  door  to  hear  me  say  so.  It's  me 
that'll  preach  sense  into  her  presently." 


CHAPTER  XXXI 

THE  PROOFS  OF  GUILT 

LL  that  short  but  sleepless  night  I  spent  in 
making  up  my  mind  and  undoing  it  again  as 
to  the  course  I  should  pursue,  always  trying 
to  put  Arthur's  safety  before  me  as  the  one 
goal  to  be  attained,  without  reference  to  my  own  peril. 
It  all  narrowed  down  to  this— that  Herzog's  story 
might  be  true,  in  which  case  by  preserving  silence  I 
should  defeat  my  own  ends  and  ruin  Arthur's  only 
chance;  whereas,  if  it  were  not  true,  I  could  not  do 
him  more  harm  than  by  allowing  myself  to  be  carried 
out  to  sea  by  Belcher,  with  all  my  discoveries  ren- 
dered futile  forever.  For  the  commencement  of  such 
an  unspeakable  voyage  would  mean  my  death.  I  was 
resolved  to  cast  myself  overboard  the  moment  the  last 
chance  of  going  ashore  had  disappeared. 

By  the  time  I  had  arrived  at  the  ultimate  conclu- 
sion to  trust  Herzog  day  was  breaking,  and,  no  re- 
striction having  been  placed  upon  me,  I  stole  up  on 
deck.  How  welcome  was  the  breath  of  the  fresh 
morning  breeze  on  my  fevered  cheeks  after  wrestling 
with  that  awful  problem  in  the  stuffy  six-foot  cabin. 
The  new  anchorage  occupied  by  the  steamer  was 

238 


THE  PROOFS  OF  GUILT  239 

flanked  on  the  windward  side  by  a  huge  meadow  of 
late  clover,  the  scent  of  which  came  over  the  creek, 
and,  blending  with  the  salt  air,  formed  a  tonic  per- 
fume, exhilarating  with  new  life. 

New  life  did  I  say?  I  had  hardly  emerged  from 
the  hood  of  the  companion,  when  I  was  reminded 
that  I  had  more  to  do  with  death  than  life  that  day. 
Physical  enjoyment  of  God's  free  sky  and  sea  was 
not  for  me.  The  red-headed  Irish  mate,  lounging  on 
the  bridge,  sprang  to  instant  vigilance,  eyeing  me 
with  a  furtive  grin.  Half-a-dozen  fierce  faces  raised 
themselves  from  the  deck  forward,  where  a  contingent 
of  the  foreign  crew  were  lying  in  a  picturesque  group 
that,  in  happier  conditions,  I  should  have  loved  to 
paint. 

Evidently  the  Nightshade  was  keeping  strict 
anchor-watch  for  a  merchant  vessel  lying  in  the 
peaceful  seclusion  of  a  land-locked  estuary. 

I  went  to  the  side  and  leaned  over,  gazing  over  the 
gray  foreground  to  the  green  and  gold  of  the  fields 
beyond.  If  I  had  been  a  man,  unhampered  by  cling- 
ing garments,  I  would  have  at  least  attempted  to 
make  a  dash  for  the  shore. 

"Wondering  whether  you  could  swim  the  distance, 
Miss  Chilmark  ? ' '  said  a  low  voice  at  my  ear.  It  was 
Herzog,  who,  on  hearing  me  astir,  had  come  up  from 
below  with  cat-like  tread.  His  whole  attitude,  rather 
than  his  words,  suggested  that  it  was  on  the  larger 
issue  that  he  required  an  answer.  To  that  point  I 
addressed  myself,  ignoring  his  strange  divination  of 
my  thoughts. 

"I  have  decided  to  accept  your  story  as  true,"  I 


240  MILLIONS  OF  MISCHIEF 

said.     "Which  means  that  I  am  willing  to  tell  you  all 
that  passed  between  Sir  Gideon  Marske  and  myself. ' ' 

"That  is  well,"  he  replied  gravely.  "Come  to  the 
stern — behind  the  wheel-house.  There  is  not  a  mo- 
ment to  be  lost,  and  we  must  not  be  overheard. ' ' 

In  less  than  five  minutes  he  was  acquainted  with 
all  my  adventures,  from  Roger  Marske 's  tracking  me 
to  Mrs.  Webley's  shop,  down  to  my  long  drive  from 
Marske  Hall  to  the  docks  in  Sir  Gideon's  company, 
and  the  ruse  by  which  I  was  induced  to  go  below  into 
the  cuddy.  Herzog's  manner  of  receiving  my  narra- 
tive was  instructive.  He  heard  of  my  danger  in  the 
burning  Mill  House  quite  impassively,  but  he  showed 
keen  interest  in  Mrs.  Webley's  behavior  and  in  all 
that  passed  at  Marske  Hall. 

"You  have  had  some  narrow  escapes,  and  have  been 
among  some  very  unkind  people,  young  lady,"  was 
his  comment.  "You  are,  I  presume,  under  the  im- 
pression that  the  newsvendor  woman  gave  you  the 
right  address,  where  Clara  Rivington  wrote  to  Roger 
Marske,  when  she  sent  you  to  the  Mill  House?" 

"At  the  time  I  thought  so,  though  I  was  puzzled 
when  I  learned  at  Chipping  Wyvern  that  the  Mill 
House  had  been  so  long  unoccupied,"  I  replied. 

Herzog  laughed  and  fumbled  for  a  cigar.  "The 
excellent  Mrs.  Webley,"  he  proceeded  as  he  struck  a 
match,  "sent  you  to  the  Mill  House  because,  during 
your  absence  from  her  shop,  Roger  Marske  slipped 
in  and  paid  her  to  do  so.  Being  on  his  father's  es- 
tate, he  knew  of  it  as  a  solitary  house,  where  he  would 
be  able  to  bring  you  and  your  pursuit  of  him  to  an 
untimely  end.  Roger  Marske  really  received  his  un- 


THE  PROOFS  OF  GUILT  241 

acknowledged  wife's  letters  at  his  rooms  in  Jermyn 
Street,  with  the  'Danvers  Crane'  envelopes  covered 
by  fresh  ones  re-addressed  by  Mrs.  Webley.  On  one 
occasion,  however,  that  mendacious  female  made  a 
fatal  slip  in  merely  crossing  out  the  'Danvers  Crane*' 
and  re-addressing  the  same  envelope." 

' '  How  do  you  know  that  ? "  I  gasped. 

I  suspect  that  this  extraordinary  man  always  had 
an  eye  for  dramatic  effect.  Striking  something  of 
an  attitude,  he  produced  a  package  from  his  breast 
pocket.  He  fondled  the  packet  a  moment,  then  pre- 
sented it  for  my  inspection. 

"Because  there  are  the  letters,"  he  said,  holding 
them  out  to  me.  "I  was  not  left  alone  in  Roger 
Marske's  chambers  yesterday  for  nothing." 

"Am  I  to  take  them?"  I  faltered,  unnerved  by  his 
sudden  action. 

"Certainly.  Within  limits  I  am  a  man  of  my 
word,"  he  smiled.  "You  have  satisfied  me  that 
Marske  can  be  convicted  without  my  being  compro- 
mised in  another  little  excursion  into  crime  by  that 
gifted  family,  so  I  keep  my  promise.  But  I  have 
more  for  you.  Take  care  of  that  box,  Miss  Chilmark, 
for  in  conjunction  with  the  letters  it  will  remove  the 
rope  from  the  neck  of  the  interesting  young  man 
with  whom  it  has  been  my  privilege  to  associate,  and 
will  place  it  round  that  of  as  big  a  scoundrel  as  ever 
deserved  hanging.  I  speak  dispassionately,  as  one 
who  lays  no  claim  to  probity  for  its  own  sake." 

The  object  which  he  now  extracted  from  his  vo- 
luminous pocket  and  proffered  for  my  acceptance  was 
a  chocolate  box,  tied  with  a  faded  pink  ribbon  and  dec- 


242  MILLIONS  OF  MISCHIEF 

orated  with  the  gaudy  picture  of  a  lady  of  preternat- 
ural beauty. 

"The  comfits  in  that  box,"  he  explained,  "are 
identical  with  those  with  which  Roger  Marske 
poisoned  Mrs.  Rivington  and  her  daughter,  sending 
them  to  his  victims  through  the  post.  The  box  also 
contains  correspondence  from  a  certain  Italian  chem- 
ist from  whom  they  were  procured.  It  speaks  for 
itself,  and  is  sufficiently  clear  to  convict  the  recipient 
of  murderous  intentions.  You  hold  in  your  hands 
about  as  complete  a  case  as  a  prosecuting  counsel 
could  desire." 

"What  am  I  to  do  with  these  things?"  I  asked, 
overwhelmed  by  the  success  which,  beyond  my  wildest 
hopes,  seemed  to  be  crowning  my  efforts. 

"Verify  them  first  if  you  like,  though  I  should 
advise  your  concealing  them  about  your  person  at 
once,  in  case  of  interruption,"  was  the  reply. 

Herzog  nodded  approval  when  I  took  the  latter 
course,  and  after  first  taking  the  precaution  to  glance 
round  each  corner  of  the  wheel-house  along  the  deck, 
he  laid  his  smooth,  fat  hand  impressively  on  my  arm. 

"Now  please  pay  particular  attention  to  me  while 
I  sketch  out  your  future  course,"  he  went  on.  "I 
place  no  restrictions  on  you,  but  I  have  rendered  you 
a  service  which  I  am  sure  that  you  will  do  your  best 
to  repay.  There  are  reasons,  vital  to  my  own  safety, 
why,  as  Herzog,  I  should  not  appear  in  the  matter  at 
all.  Are  you  willing  to  keep  me  out  of  it?" 

"If  you  will  show  me  how  it  can  be  done,"  I  an- 
swered, readily  understanding  his  motive.  Had  he 
not  been  the  prime  mover  in,  if  not  the  original  insti- 


THE  PROOFS  OF  GUILT  243 

gator  of,  the  plot  against  Lord  Alphington,  with 
which  Arthur's  escape  from  Winchester  was  insepa- 
rably bound  up  ? 

He  must  have  read  my  thoughts.  "I  have  no  ob- 
jection to  be  known  in  the  business  under  my  alias 
of  Doctor  Barrables,"  he  said.  "Captain  Kivington 
has  consented  to  repay  my  service  by  sinking  all  ref- 
erence to  Herzog,  and  it  was  to  ascertain  from  you 
if  Sir  Gideon  had  said  or  done  anything  which  would 
make  it  necessary  to  drag  me  into  his  son's  case  that 
I  was  obliged  to  stipulate  for  your  confidence  before 
handing  you  those  proofs.  What  I  propose  is  this. 
As  Roger  Marske's  supposed  representative  I  shall 
bid  Captain  Belcher  put  you  ashore  at  Totland  Bay. 
You  will  go  straight  to  Lord  Alphington  with  the 
proofs  and  tell  him  the  whole  story  exactly  as  you 
know  it,  merely  substituting  the  name  of  Doctor  Bar- 
rabies  wherever  you  should  say  Herzog. ' ' 

"But  Roger  Marske  is  aware  of  your  real  identity, 
and  will  disclose  it  when  brought  to  bay,"  I  said. 

"Not  so;  as  it  will  not  be  material  to  his  own  de- 
fense, there  are  the  best  of  reasons  why  he  should  not 
disclose  it,"  replied  Herzog,  with  such  a  meaning 
smile  that  light  broke  in  on  me,  as  I  believe  he  in- 
tended it  should. 

"Sir  Gideon  was  the  instigator—"  I  began  in  an 
awe-struck  whisper,  which  he  checked  with  a  wave 
of  his  hand. 

"My  dear  young  lady,"  he  purred,  "let  us  draw 
a  veil  over  all  that.  I  do  not  even  admit  that  the 
Prime  Minister  was  ever  in  any  real  danger  at  all. 
But  this  I  do  know— that  your  lover  is,  and  that 


244  MILLIONS  OF  MISCHIEF 

unless  we  can  get  round  to  Totland  by  the  early  after- 
noon he  will  probably  be  recaptured,  when  even  those 
proofs  which  you  hold  will  be  too  late  to  save  him. 
And  I  am  afraid  we  may  have  difficulty  with  the 
captain.  He  gives  me  the  impression  of  having  an 
axe  of  his  own  to  grind — of  wishing  to  keep  you  on 
board." 

"I  am  terrified  by  him;  the  first  night  I  spent  on 
the  ship  he  got  drunk,  and  I  heard  him  talking  to 
the  mate,"  I  said. 

"Well,  you  heard  me  talking  last  night,  so  you 
must  not  be  too  greatly  alarmed,"  replied  Herzog, 
with  a  solemn  wink.  ' '  All  the  same  I  agree  with  you 
that  the  man  is  a  hog " 

"Who  are  you  calling  a  hog  on  my  ship?"  came 
the  suspicious  inquiry  from  behind.  And,  turning 
quickly,  I  saw  that  Captain  Belcher  was  casting  bale- 
ful glances  at  us  round  the  corner  of  the  wheel-house. 


CHAPTER  XXXII 

A  FIGHT  AGAINST  TIME 

OW  long  had  Belcher  been  standing  there, 
and  how  much  had  he  overheard  ?  I  began  to 
tremble  violently,  but  with  characteristic 
readiness  Herzog  stepped  to  the  front,  and, 
shielding  me  with  his  broad  person,  turned  the  awk- 
ward question  aside  with  a  jest.  The  individual  to 
whom  he  had  applied  such  a  harsh  term,  he  avowed, 
was  the  steward  Antonio,  who  had  only  given  him  a 
teacupful  of  water  to  wash  in. 

Belcher  scowled  and  muttered,  as  though  only  half 
believing,  but  he  went  on  to  say  that  the  tide  served, 
and  to  inquire  whether  Herzog  wanted  to  be  put 
ashore  at  that  point,  or  whether  he  was  going  on  in 
the  steamer. 

The  question  did  not  elicit  an  immediate  reply, 
for  Herzog  capped  it  with  another:  "You  are  bound, 
in  ballast,  for  Barcelona,  I  understand  from  Mr. 
Marske— to  fetch  home  a  cargo  of  fruit?" 

"You've  hit  it,  mister— first  time,"  assented 
Belcher  gruffly. 

"Very  well,  then  here  is  your  programme,"  pro- 
ceeded Herzog.  ' '  I  have  made  terms  with  this  young 

245 


246  MILLIONS  OF  MISCHIEF 

lady  on  behalf  of  my  principals  and  yours.  You 
will  therefore  start  immediately,  and,  shaping  your 
course  inside  the  Isle  of  Wight  at  your  best  speed, 
you  will  land  Miss  Chilmark  in  one  of  your  own  boats 
at  the  pier  at  Totland  Bay.  I  myself  shall  enjoy  the 
pleasure  of  your  company  considerably  longer,  cap- 
tain, for  I  propose  to  go  on  with  you  to  Barcelona." 

Belcher  had  been  staring  at  him  open-mouthed, 
but  now  his  jaw  closed  with  an  ugly  snap,  and  he 
seemed  on  the  point  of  an  angry  outbreak.  I  had 
been  thinking  of  Arthur  and  Arthur's  safety  hitherto, 
but  now  I  was  free  to  rejoice  at  the  near  prospect  of 
escape  from  this  wild  animal's  domain.  His  visible 
disappointment  at  that  moment  brought  home  to  me 
how  doubly  grateful  I  ought  to  be  for  Herzog's  in- 
tervention. Had  I  been  the  passenger  to  make  the 
voyage  I  could  see  that  the  waves  would  have  been 
my  best  friends  before  we  were  out  of  the  Channel. 
So  I  told  myself  in  the  exaltation  of  the  moment, 
without  reflecting  that  as  long  as  I  was  on  board  the 
Nightshade  such  congratulations  might  be  premature. 

Belcher  for  the  present  restrained  his  wrath,  and, 
muttering  that  he  would  go  and  get  the  anchor  up, 
turned  on  his  heel  and  went  forward  to  the  bridge. 
Shortly  the  steamer  began  to  move,  and  as  she  crept 
slowly  from  creek  to  creek  out  to  the  open  sea,  Herzog 
filled  in  the  blanks  of  his  narrative. 

He  told  me  how  Roger  Marske  had  attempted  to 
murder  Arthur;  how,  fearing  that,  as  he  had  failed 
to  silence  my  lover  by  that  direct  method,  Marske 
would  take  measures  to  have  him  recaptured,  he, 
Herzog,  had  hidden  him  in  a  vacant  house  and  had 


A  FIGHT  AGAINST  TIME  247 

started  to  try  to  trace  me  and  procure  evidence 
against  Marske.  He  had  intended  to  see  Arthur 
again  before  leaving  Totland,  to  take  food  to  him, 
but  finding  that  Marske  was  leaving  for  London  by 
the  first  boat  he  had  had  to  alter  his  plans  in  a  hurry. 

Instead  of  going  in  person  he  had  been  compelled 
to  trust  a  local  fisherman  named  Croal  with  the  duty 
of  conveying  provisions  to  Arthur's  retreat.  The 
limited  confidence  he  had  had  to  place  in  this  man 
was  disquieting,  but  he  hoped  and  believed  that  the 
man  was  both  stupid  and  trustworthy,  and  would  not 
betray  the  trust.  He  had  enlisted  Croal 's  sympathies 
by  telling  him  that  Arthur  was  a  runaway  debtor, 
and  it  was  hardly  likely  that  the  fisherman  would 
connect  the  case  with  the  fugitive  convict  who  was 
supposed  to  be  on  his  way  to  America.  At  any  rate, 
it  was  the  best  he  could  do,  as  it  was  imperative  not 
to  lose  sight  of  Roger  Marske.  Only  by  sticking  to 
him  could  he  learn  my  whereabouts. 

With  persistent  cleverness  he  had  carried  out  that 
self-imposed  task,  traveling  up  to  London  in  Roger 
Marske 's  company.  Marske,  of  course,  had  heard 
from  him  already  that  Arthur's  escape  had  been  ar- 
ranged by  Sir  Gideon;  and,  doubtless,  his  father,  on 
the  memorable  night  at  Marske  Hall,  had  supple- 
mented the  information,  so  that  Herzog  had  no  dif- 
ficulty in  approaching  the  matter.  He  had  there- 
fore informed  Roger  Marske,  what  he  knew  already, 
that  the  affair  which  had  caused  Arthur's  release  was 
at  an  end,  and  had  gained  the  villain's  confidence  by 
warning  him  of  the  charge  which  I  was  working  to 
bring  against  him. 


248  MILLIONS  OF  MISCHIEF 

Falling  into  the  trap,  but  without  admitting  his 
guilt,  Roger  Marske  had  thereupon  disclosed  to  Her- 
zog  what  had  befallen  me — how  I  had  come  to  Marske 
Hall,  of  all  places  in  the  world,  to  lay  an  information 
against  him,  and  how  advantage  had  been  taken  of 
this  to  inveigle  me  on  board  the  Nightshade,  over 
whose  brutal  skipper  Sir  Gideon  had  a  firm  hold. 
Koger  Marske  had  also  fully  stated  his  plans  regard- 
ing me.  He  was  going  down  late  in  the  evening  to 
board  the  ship  in  Chichester  Harbor,  when,  unless  I 
signed  a  document  withdrawing  all  aspersions  on  him, 
especially  as  to  what  had  happened  at  the  Mill  House, 
I  was  to  be  left  on  board  at  Belcher's  disposal. 

Herzog  was  of  opinion  that  the  Nightshade's  ren- 
dezvous at  that  lonely  spot,  unknown  even  to  the 
captain  till  after  he  had  sailed,  had  been  chosen 
against  the  contingency  of  Roger  Marske  having  to 
fly  after  the  desperate  effort  he  meant  to  make  to 
silence  Arthur  by  violence.  The  attempt  having 
failed,  and  Arthur  being  unable  to  accuse  him  of  it, 
he  had  no  reason  for  flight,  and  would  not  have  re- 
mained on  board. 

"Then  came  my  masterpiece,"  added  Herzog,  with 
a  touch  of  vanity  that  was  natural  to  him.  "I  in- 
duced him  to  consent  to  take  me  down  with  him,  so 
that  I  might  avail  myself  of  the  opportunity  of  keep- 
ing out  of  the  way  in  Spain  for  a  time.  I  also  per- 
suaded him  to  allow  me  to  wait  in  his  rooms  while  he 
went  out  to  give  secret  information  at  the  Home  Office 
as  to  the  fugitive's  whereabouts.  The  result  you 
know.  I  successfully  ransacked  his  rooms  with  the 
aid  of  my  bunch  of  skeleton  keys,  and  later  on  pre- 


A  FIGHT  AGAINST  TIME  249 

vented  his  designs  on  you  with  a  knock  on  the  head. ' ' 
"But,"  I  said,  fired  with  instant  alarm,  "if  he 
was  at  the  Home  Office  yesterday  afternoon  the 
search  for  Arthur  will  commence  this  morning  at 
the  latest." 

"Not  so,"  was  the  partially  reassuring  yet  terrify- 
ing reply.  "The  object  of  the  Marskes,  and  certain 
other  interested  persons,  is  to  allow  as  little  time  as 
possible  to  elapse  between  his  capture  and  execution 
— to  minimize  the  remote  chance  of  any  one's  paying 
attention  to  what  he  would  say.  It  was  arranged, 
so  Marske  told  me,  that  he  would  not  be  looked  up 
till  the  afternoon,  so  that  he  might  be  hustled  off  to 
Winchester  in  the  evening  and  hanged  at  dawn  to- 
morrow. You  should  take  comfort  from  the  fact 
that  they  believe  him  to  be  still  in  the  lodgings  at 
'Springthorpe.'  I  took  care  to  impress  that  fiction 
upon  Master  Roger.  They  do  not  know  that  their 
quarry  is  hidden  away  in  an  empty  house,  and  that 
a  hunt  is  in  store  for  them. ' ' 

I  could  only  hope  for  the  best,  and  pray  that  the 
sleuth-hounds  of  the  law  would  believe  my  dear  one 
to  have  fled  further  afield,  when  they  learned  that 
he  had  not  been  seen  at  his  lodgings  for  nearly  two 
days.  But  Herzog's  concise  story  made  me  realize 
how  everything  depended  on  the  Nightshade  for  the 
next  few  hours.  A  hundred  things  might  happen  to 
cause  a  fatal  delay.  Her  rattletrap  engines  might 
break  down;  her  captain  might  get  drunk  and  re- 
bellious; ominous  clouds,  heralded  by  a  spiteful 
«  breeze,  were  banking  in  the  western  sky.  The 


250  MILLIONS  OF  MISCHIEF 

weather  might  upset  all  Herzog's  calculations  and 
send  Arthur  to  his  doom. 

Antonio  came  presently  to  announce  that  break- 
fast awaited  us  in  the  cuddy,  and  before  going  below 
I  was  rejoiced  to  see  that  we  should  soon  be  out  of 
those  lonely  stretches  of  stagnant  water.  The 
steamer  was  threading  her  way  between  the  low  shores 
of  the  most  seaward  creek,  with  the  sandy  beach  of 
Hayling  Island  visible  on  the  port  bow.  Once  clear 
of  the  shallows  Captain  Belcher  could  put  on  full 
speed  if  he  so  willed  it. 

He  did  not  appear  at  the  breakfast  table,  the  hon- 
ors being  done  in  surly  fashion  by  the  red-headed 
mate,  who  eyed  Herzog  askance,  and  obstinately  re- 
fused all  information  as  to  how  long  it  would  take 
to  do  the  distance  to  Totland  Bay.  "You  must  ask 
old  man  Belcher, ' '  was  his  oft-repeated  answer.  ' '  He 
don't  permit  the  likes  of  me  to  do  the  talking  on  his 
ship." 

When  we  returned  to  the  deck  it  became  evident 
that  the  captain's  abstemiousness  in  the  matter  of 
food  did  not  extend  to  liquid  refreshment.  He  had 
been  supplied  on  the  bridge  with  a  square  flask  of 
Hollands,  to  which  he  frequently  applied  himself  in 
the  intervals  of  giving  instructions  to  the  man  at 
the  wheel.  His  face  was  already  flushed,  and  his 
speech,  as  he  bellowed  foul-mouthed  orders  to  the 
crew,  was  thick  and  inarticulate. 

"We  shall  have  trouble,"  I  heard  Herzog  mutter. 
"The  fellow  is  fortifying  himself  for  a  purpose." 

And  turning  to  me,  he  added  aloud,  but  in  a  low 
voice,  "It  is  asking  a  good  deal  of  you  in  the  way 


A  FIGHT  AGAINST  TIME  251 

of  swallowing  noxious  air,  Miss  Chilmark,  but  I  really 
think  that  you  would  be  better  in  your  cabin — for  the 
present,  at  any  rate." 

"Thank  you,  I  shall  remain  on  deck,"  I  replied 
in  a  tone  intended  to  be  final. 

Herzog's  shrug  and  grimace  denoted  that  he  ac- 
cepted it  as  much.  "Then,"  said  he,  "let  us  en- 
trench ourselves  to  the  best  advantage.  Ah,  the  very 
place." 

He  led  the  way  to  a  small  deck-house,  built  at  the 
side  of  the  vessel,  flush  with  the  bulwarks  and  about 
ten  paces  aft  of  the  bridge.  There  was  a  similar 
structure  opposite  on  the  other  side,  and  I  was  told 
afterward  that  the  signal  flags  were  kept  in  one  of 
these  houses  and  spare  ropes  in  the  other.  Herzog's 
use  for  the  one  he  selected  was  soon  to  be  made  plain. 

"Now,  if  you  will  kindly  stand  there,  you  ought 
to  be  all  right,"  he  said,  indicating  the  angle  which 
the  deck-house  made  with  the  bulwarks — a  spot  where 
I  was  entirely  screened  from  a  view  of  the  bridge, 
and  could  see  nothing  of  the  ship  but  the  afterpart 
of  the  deck,  with  the  house  for  the  second  wheel,  be- 
hind which  we  had  conversed  earlier  in  the  morning, 
in  the  background.  Herzog  came  and  leaned  over 
the  rail  beside  me,  taking  advantage  for  the  moment 
of  the  same  shelter.  His  keen  gaze  was  directed  at 
the  rough  water  of  the  open  sea  ahead,  into  which  the 
steamer  was  steadily  ploughing.  Already  we  were 
beginning  to  pitch  uncomfortably. 

My  strange  companion  pointed  to  a  blue  line  that 
rose  at  a  great  distance  in  front  of  us  as  the  steamer 
wore  round  to  the  left,  clear  of  Hayling  Island. 


252  MILLIONS  OF  MISCHIEF 

"It  is  a  very  little  matter— simply  the  difference 
between  inside  and  outside — that  is  worrying  me," 
said  he.  "Those  are  the  cliffs  of  Bembridge,  in  the 
Isle  of  Wight.  If  Belcher  steers  for  them  we  shall 
know  that  he  is  for  going  outside  the  Wight,  straight- 
away down  Channel  for  Spain,  instead  of  shaping  a 
course  inside  it,  down  the  Solent,  according  to  orders. 
Which  will  mean  that  he  has  kicked  over  the  traces, 
and  that  there  are  squalls  ahead  in  two  senses,  for  it 
is  going  to  blow  a  summer  gale  by  all  the  signs.  The 
elements  we  cannot  control,  but  we  shall  know  all 
about  the  Belcher  part  of  the  programme  in  less  than 
two  minutes." 

His  words  filled  me  with  a  new  despair,  just  as  I 
had  thought  the  battle  won.  Alarming  as  would  be 
the  prospect  for  myself  if  Belcher  elected  to  run  out 
to  sea  and  commence  his  voyage  without  putting  me 
ashore  at  Totland,  for  my  poor  hunted  Arthur  the 
result  could  only  be  the  supreme  disaster.  I  waited 
with  my  heart  in  my  mouth  for  the  first  indication 
of  the  course  to  be  steered,  and  it  came  quickly 
enough.  Disdaining  the  narrow  waters  between  the 
Isle  of  Wight  and  the  Hampshire  coast,  the  vessel's 
head  swerved  further  to  the  left,  leaving  no  doubt 
that  Belcher  was  making  for  the  English  Channel, 
south  of  the  Island.  We  were  not  intended  to  pass 
the  flourishing  little  watering-place  on  the  Solent  at 
all. 

Gently  but  firmly  Herzog  pushed  me  further  be- 
hind the  shelter  of  the  deck-house,  at  the  same  time 
drawing  a  formidable  revolver. 

"It  is  not  likely  that  the  captain  will  have  fire- 


A  FIGHT  AGAINST  TIME  253 

arms  on  him,  but  I  want  you  to  be  out  of  harm's  way 
in  case  there  is  shooting,"  he  explained.  Then  he 
stood  boldly  forth  and  leveled  his  pistol  at  the  bridge. 
"If  you  do  not  alter  your  course,  and  run  for  the 
Solent  inside  thirty  seconds,  Belcher,  I  will  drill  a 
hole  through  you,"  he  cried. 


T 


CHAPTER  XXXIII 

SHIPWRECK 

HE  thirty  seconds  allowed  in  Herzog's  chal- 
lenge seemed  to  have  been  multiplied  by  ten 
before  there  was  any  result.  I  could  not  but 
admire  the  attitude  of  my  unscrupulous  ally 
during  that  period  of  suspense.  His  aim  never  wa- 
vered, nor  did  he  show  the  slightest  apprehension  for 
his  personal  safety,  great  as  were  the  odds  he  had 
taken  upon  himself  to  confront.  I  tried  to  read  upon 
his  face  signs  of  what  was  passing  on  the,  to  me,  in- 
visible bridge,  but  his  expression  remained  sternly 
impassive. 

The  answer  of  the  enemy  came  at  last,  not  in 
a  bullet,  but  in  a  string  of  oaths  that  the  intervening 
deck-house  failed  to  keep  from  my  ears.  And  with 
the  answer  came  relief,  for  almost  simultaneously  the 
Nightshade's  bows  wore  round  for  the  other  course 
—that  between  the  mainland  and  the  Wight. 

Herzog  did  not  lower  his  revolver,  but  after  a  re- 
assuring nod  at  me  he  addressed  himself  to  Belcher. 
' '  I  give  you  credit  for  that  act  of  wisdom,  captain, ' ' 
he  shouted.     "You  and  your  crew  have  nothing  to 
fear  from  me  so  long  as  you  obey  orders.    But  I  shall 

254 


SHIPWRECK  255 

shoot  any  man  who  attempts  to  come  aft  of  the  bridge, 
and  I  shall  shoot  you  and  put  the  mate  in  charge  if 
you  don't  keep  up  a  good  speed— ten  knots  at  least." 

Another  volley  of  blasphemy  flew  back  harmless, 
but  the  vesssel  plodded  on  to  the  westward  in  the 
teeth  of  the  fast  rising  gale,  and  Herzog  took  no 
notice.  But  he  did  not  relax  his  readiness  with  the 
pistol. 

"I  am  afraid  that,  for  a  stout  man  who  loves  his 
ease,  I  have  taken  on  rather  a  large  order,"  he  half 
turned  his  head  to  say  to  me.  "At  the  mildest  com- 
putation we  cannot  be  off  Totland  for  another  three 
hours,  and  I  must  keep  watch  and  ward  all  that  time 
on  a  deck  that  bids  fair  to  become  slippery.  Luckily, 
my  legs  are  fairly  seaworthy.  Before  I  became  a 
Surveyor  of  Taxes  I  had  the  honor  to  care  for  her 
late  Majesty's  revenue  as  an  exciseman  in  Belfast 
Harbor." 

So,  for  the  next  hour,  as  the  vessel  ploughed  into 
the  narrowing  waters  of  the  Solent,  past  Southsea 
and  the  Spithead  forts  on  the  right,  and  the  green 
slopes  of  the  Wight,  shadowed  now  by  lowering 
storm  clouds  on  the  left,  my  unexpected  champion 
chatted  frivolously.  But  all  the  while  his  eye  was 
full  of  vigilance  for  the  bridge,  and  once  or  twice  a 
sudden  stiffening  of  the  fingers  on  the  stock  of  his 
weapon  told  of  movements  among  the  crew  beyond 
my  field  of  vision.  Once  he  raised  the  pistol,  but 
lowered  it  again  with  a  laugh. 

"Belcher  has  finished  his  bottle  and  wants  an- 
other," he  explained  for  my  benefit.  "Unfortu- 
nately for  that  unquenchable  thirst  of  his  it  would 


256  MILLIONS  OF  MISCHIEF 

have  entailed  a  visit  by  Antonio  to  the  cuddy,  which 
is  in  our  domain,  and  that  I  could  not  permit.  What 
a  stroke  of  luck,  Miss  Chilmark,  that  our  friend  the 
skipper  believed  himself  such  an  autocrat  that  he 
didn't  think  it  necessary  to  carry  his  pistol  on  his 
person.  If  he  had  done  so  my  vigil  might  have  been 
more  lively,  and  less  of  a  sinecure. ' ' 

As  the  steamer  edged  further  into  the  Solent,  our 
chief  foe  for  the  moment,  the  weather,  had  its  flank 
turned  by  the  island  barrier,  and  we  steamed  past 
East  Cowes,  with  its  anchorage  full  of  sheltering 
yachts,  in  less  discomfort.  Still  the  wind  and  the 
waves  were  against  us,  and  the  old  fruit  tramp  made 
but  poor  time.  It  was  past  noon  when  we  were  off 
the  mouth  of  Southampton  Water,  and  then  some- 
thing happened. 

Herzog  preserved  his  original  position  at  the  corner 
of  the  deck-house,  with  his  pistol  in  hand  poised 
ready  for  use,  and  with  his  gaze  focused  on  the  fore- 
part of  the  ship,  which  I  could  not  see.  I  myself  was 
impatiently  watching  the  island  shores,  and  thinking 
how  slowly  they  seemed  to  slip  by,  when  a  yacht, 
anchored  inshore  off  West  Cowes,  attracted  my  atten- 
tion. She  was  a  pretty  schooner,  with  auxiliary 
steam  power,  and  I  thought  I  recognized  her  as  one 
which  had  been  lying  at  Totland  a  fortnight  before. 
In  order  to  prolong  my  scrutiny  of  the  yacht,  when 
we  had  passed,  my  eyes  turned  further  astern,  and 
in  doing  so  encountered  a  sight  which  drew  from  me 
a  warning  cry. 

Two  of  the  Nightshade's  foreign  cut-throats  were 
peering  round  the  corner  of  the  aft  wheel-house. 


SHIPWRECK  257 

They  were  armed  with  long  knives,  and  were  evi- 
dently on  the  point  of  attacking  Herzog  from  the  rear. 
As  he  turned  at  my  scream  they  made  their  rush,  but 
the  moment's  warning  was  enough  for  that  ready 
hand  and  brain.  Two  shots  from  his  revolver  rang 
out  in  quick  succession,  and  the  treacherous  ruffians 
fell,  mortally  wounded,  one  on  the  top  of  the  other. 

"Thank  you,  Miss  Chilmark;  I  could  wish  for  no 
smarter  aide,"  said  Herzog,  whipping  round  and 
covering  the  bridge  again.  To  my  surprise  there  was 
another  flash  and  report  from  his  revolver,  followed 
by  a  howl  of  rage  and  pain. 

"All  right,  Belcher;  a  flesh  wound  in  the  calf  won't 
do  you  any  harm,"  he  shouted.  "That  is  only  a 
reminder  not  to  play  any  more  hanky-panky  in  the 
way  of  towing  those  beauties  of  yours  overboard  to 
scramble  over  the  stern  and  steal  a  march  on  me.  If 
it  occurs  again  I  shall  make  it  a  capital  offense  for 
you  as  well  as  for  them,  and  shoot  to  kill  you." 

With  which  he  slipped  three  fresh  cartridges  into 
the  smoking  cylinder,  and  turned  his  broad  smiling 
face  on  me. 

"I  am  taming  him  by  degrees,"  he  chuckled.  "But 
I  fear  that  I  shall  have  to  alter  my  plans  and  take 
the  risk  of  going  ashore  at  Totland  with  you.  A 
voyage  to  Barcelona,  under  the  strained  conditions 
subsisting  between  our  good  Belcher  and  myself, 
would  not  be  a  pleasure  trip." 

"But,"  said  I,  "if  Arthur  has  been  recaptured, 
and  has  told  his  story,  mentioning  you  as  'Doctor 
Barrables,'  you  would  be  recognized  as  his  late  com- 
panion and  arrested,  would  you  not?" 


258  MILLIONS  OF  MISCHIEF 

' '  That,  my  dear  young  lady,  is  the  risk  that  I  must 
run,"  replied  Herzog  cheerfully.  "I  regard  it  as  a 
lesser  one  than  traveling  to  Spain  with  the  truculent 
gentleman  who  is  now  binding  up  his  leg  on  the 
bridge,  and  who  would  certainly  murder  me  unless 
I  could  do  without  sleep  for  ten  days.  We  should 
be  off  Totland  in  an  hour  now,  and  I  do  not  believe 
that  Captain  Rivington  will  have  been  molested  so 
early.  It  is  not  as  though  he  were  at  our  old  lodgings, 
remember.  He  is  a  recluse  where  he  will  take  a  lot 
of  finding.  No,  I  prefer  the  risk  of  going  ashore, 
and  of  dropping  quietly  off  to  more  congenial  haunts 
till  such  time  as  there  is  less  chance  of  Herzog,  the 
Government  agent,  being  identified  with  the  Doctor 
Barrables  of  what  will  probably  be  a  big  line  in  mod- 
ern history." 

His  words  were  cheering,  not  only  on  Arthur's  ac- 
count, but  because  I  could  not  help  feeling  interested 
in  the  strange  man  who  had  so  unexpectedly  dropped 
from  the  skies  to  befriend  me  in  the  last  stage  of  my 
" forlorn  hope."  He  was  so  secretive,  with  all  his 
air  of  frank  geniality,  that  I  could  not  divine  whether 
he  had  really  entered  into  the  plot  against  Lord  Al- 
phington  with  the  intention  of  working  it  out  to  the 
bitter  end.  When  I  am  puzzled  about  this  I  always 
remember  that  speech  of  his: 

"I  do  not  admit  that  the  Prime  Minister  was  ever 
in  any  real  danger  at  all." 

And  that  is  the  view  I  prefer  to  take— that  Herzog, 
with  the  iron  heel  of  Sir  Gideon  Marske  on  him,  did 
as  he  was  bid  in  the  matter  of  arranging  Arthur's 
escape  from  prison,  but  that  he  did  it  in  the  hope  that, 


SHIPWRECK  259 

before  the  desperate  venture  was  ended,  he  would 
find  some  means  of  turning  the  tables  on  his  master, 
or  at  least  of  freeing  himself  from  his  yoke. 

I  looked  at  his  strong  face,  with  the  humorous  twist 
to  a  mouth  that  suggested  possibilities  of  cruelty  and 
tenderness  at  the  same  time.  I  was  clutching  the 
railings,  so  heavily  was  the  steamer  pitching  now,  but 
the  stout  elderly  gentleman,  fingering  his  pistol,  with 
one  keen  eye  for  the  bridge  and  a  milder  one  for  me, 
balanced  himself  on  the  heaving  deck  with  no  ap- 
parent effort.  He  had  lit  and  smoked  some  half- 
dozen  cigars  since  we  occupied  what  he  called  our  en- 
trenchment. 

"Have  you  no  relatives  to  miss  you  if  you  leave 
England  ? "  a  sudden  impulse  prompted  me  to  ask. 

Just  then  something  on  the  bridge,  which  I  could 
not  see,  made  him  steady  his  revolver  for  a  moment, 
but,  whatever  the  emergency,  it  passed,  and  he  flung 
at  me  a  look  of  quite  fatherly  kindness. 

"No,"  he  replied.  "I  have  no  one  to  mind,  what- 
ever happens.  I  had  once— a  young  wife,  of  whom 
I  was  more  than  fond,  Miss  Chilmark.  It  was  to 
save  her  life  by  sending  her  to  Madeira  that  I  com- 
mitted the  theft — no  need  to  mince  words — which 
brought  me  into  bondage  under  Sir  Gideon  Marske. 
My  wife  died,  and  I  became  the  unwilling  slave  of  a 
man  more  infamous  than  any  of  those  who  have  used 
place  and  power  for  their  own  ends." 

That  was  the  first  and  last  of  Herzog's  confidences 
to  me,  but  it  is  perhaps  sufficient  to  explain  why  I 
refuse  to  regard  him  as  the  human  monster  whom 
Arthur  has  portrayed  in  the  earlier  pages  of  his  nar- 


260  MILLIONS  OF  MISCHIEF 

rative.  For  the  sake  of  the  strenuous  aid  he  rendered 
me  I  try  to  persuade  myself  that  he  went  into  the 
affair  of  Lord  Alphington  because  he  guessed  that 
his  employers  had  made  an  initial  blunder  in  assum- 
ing Arthur's  guilt,  and  that  instead  of  closing  the 
conspiracy  with  a  political  assassination,  he  might  be 
able  to  forge  from  it  a  weapon  for  his  own  emancipa- 
tion. 

All  this  time  the  gale  had  been  increasing,  but  it 
was  not  till  we  had  passed  Yarmouth  and  come  into 
the  straight  stretch  ending  in  the  Needles  and  the 
open  sea  that  we  felt  its  full  force.  And  once  through 
the  narrow  gut,  where  Cliff  End  on  the  Wight  and 
Hurst  Castle  on  the  mainland  jut  out  toward  each 
other,  the  seas  were  running  high.  A  minute  later 
I  was  drenched  to  the  skin  by  a  shower  of  spray,  and 
Herzog  voiced  the  fear  that  had  already  seized  me. 
He  pointed  to  Totland  pier,  foam-besieged  and  de- 
serted, across  a  mile  of  angry  water.  Away  to  the 
right,  on  the  dreaded  Shingle  Bank,  the  breakers  were 
leaping  with  thunderous  roar. 

"I  am  afraid  we  are  done,"  he  said.  "A  boat 
would  scarcely  live  in  that  sea,  even  if  my  pistol  could 
induce  a  brace  of  these  ruffians  to  man  it. ' ' 

"You  must  induce  them;  I  am  not  afraid  to  go 
in  a  boat,"  I  cried  desperately,  for  the  sight  of  the 
little  tree-embowered  village  on  the  cliffs,  round  which 
all  my  hopes  and  fears  centered,  maddened  me.  I 
could  pick  out  quite  clearly  the  vacant  house  in  which 
Arthur  had  sought  refuge — one  of  several  stone-built 
residences  above  the  lifeboat  station. 

In  my  agitation  I  had  stepped  out  beyond  the 


SHIPWRECK  261 

shelter  of  the  deck-house  and  joined  Herzog  on  the 
sloping  deck,  clutching  his  arm  to  save  myself  from 
falling.  I  had  not  seen  Belcher  for  hours,  but  now, 
as  I  looked  up  at  the  bridge  he  turned  his  evil  face 
aft  at  us  and  shouted  maliciously : 

"How  about  going  ashore  now?  You'll  have  to 
shoot  the  whole  crowd,  for  I'll  never  get  'em  to  lower 
a  boat  in  this  sea." 

Herzog  turned  to  me,  his  great  broad  face  working 
with  an  emotion  that  I  like  to  think  of  as  pity.  ' '  The 
skipper  speaks  a  true  word  for  once,"  he  said  sadly. 
' '  But,  if  you  so  decide,  I  am  quite  willing  to  give  the 
Nightshade's  crew  the  choice  between  suicide  by 
drowning  or  bullet." 

"What  would  happen  if  we  do  not  attempt  to 
land?"  I  asked  in  despair. 

Herzog  shot  a  glance  at  the  surges  boiling  on  the 
Shingles.  "It  will  be  a  perilous  operation,"  he  re- 
plied, "but  I  can  make  him  turn  back  to  Yarmouth 
and  land  us  there,  where  the  roadstead  is  sheltered. 
Of  course  there  would  be  the  loss  of  valuable  time, 
but  it  would  be  better  than  getting  drowned  or  the 
other  alternative  of  being  taken  to  Barcelona." 

"And  doing  no  good  at  all.  Yes,  make  him  go 
back  to  Yarmouth,"  I  implored,  realizing  that  to 
reach  Totland  pier  across  that  storm-tossed  sea  was 
impossible. 

Herzog  lost  no  time  in  transmitting  my  wishes  to 
Belcher,  who,  after  a  moment's  sullen  hesitation,  re- 
peated the  order  to  the  steersman.  The  steamer's 
bows  wore  slowly  round  in  a  long  curve,  shipping  tons 
of  water  as  she  turned  broadside  to  the  tempest,  but 


262  MILLIONS  OF  MISCHIEF 

there  was  either  not  sufficient  sea-room  to  turn  in  the 
restricted  fairway,  or  the  captain  bungled  the 
maneuver,  for  before  the  vessel  had  completed  a  half 
circle  we  were  in  the  breakers,  and  half  a  minute 
later  the  Nightshade  struck  bottom  with  a  long,  rend- 
ing crash,  ominous  of  her  doom. 

We  were  aground  on  the  all-devouring  Shingle 
Bank,  a  mile  and  a  half  from  land,  in  a  sea  through 
which  nothing  but  a  lifeboat  could  win  to  us.  And 
the  Nightshade  heeled  over  and  bumped  upon  the 
pebbly  bottom,  while  the  leaping,  hungry  breakers 
spumed  over  the  bulwarks  and  threatened  to  smash 
the  worn-out  tramp  into  matchwood  long  before  a 
lifeboat  could  cover  the  distance. 

Herzog's  hand  closed  over  my  wrist  and  dragged 
me  further  from  the  side.  "Let  us  try  to  reach 
the  aft  wheel-house,"  he  roared  in  my  ear.  "We 
shall  be  safer  there  from  being  washed  overboard — 
unless  the  whole  house  goes." 


CHAPTER  XXXIV 

ROGER  MARSKE  ARRIVES 

ERZOG  showed  good  judgment  in  selecting 
the  wheel-house  as  a  last  refuge  from  the 
fury  of  the  breakers.  In  taking  the  ground 
the  steamer  had  partly  slid  over  an  outlying 
spur  of  the  Shingle  Bank,  and  had  there  become  fixed, 
with  the  result  that  her  stern  was  considerably  higher 
out  of  the  water  than  the  bows.  The  forecastle,  in- 
deed, was  actually  submerged,  while  we  were  corre- 
spondingly elevated  above  the  level  of  the  tumultuous 
seas. 

The  noise  of  the  wind  and  the  waves,  and  the  still 
more  horrible  "crunch"  of  the  huge  mass  of  shifting 
pebbles  in  which  we  were  jammed,  made  sustained 
conversation  impossible,  but  partly  in  words  and 
partly  by  gestures  Herzog  managed  to  convey  to  me 
that  our  one  hope  was  the  lifeboat,  if  the  vessel  could 
resist  the  tremendous  buffeting  of  the  breakers  long 
enough.  It  seemed  more  likely  that  she  would  part 
in  the  middle,  the  forepart  dropping  off  into  deep 
water  to  sink  like  a  stone,  and  the  stern  breaking  into 
splinters. 

The  crew  swarmed  into  the  rigging  of  the  foremast, 
except  Belcher  and  the  Irish  mate,  who  remained 

263 


264  MILLIONS  OF  MISCHIEF 

on  the  bridge,  apparently  engaged  in  a  violent  alter- 
cation. For  some  minutes  this  lasted,  and  then  the 
mate  came  down  and,  staggering  to  the  deck-house, 
behind  which  I  had  stood  all  the  morning,  brought 
out  a  flag,  which  he  hoisted  on  the  main-mast,  climb- 
ing into  the  rigging  immediately  afterward. 

Seeing  himself  deserted  by  O'Brien,  Belcher  stood 
at  the  bridge  rail,  apparently  hurling  unheard  curses 
after  the  retreating  figure  of  his  mate.  Then  he,  too, 
descended  to  the  deck,  trailing  his  wounded  leg  down 
the  bridge  ladder,  and  clinging  to  the  foot  of  it  while 
he  gazed  apprehensively  at  Herzog,  who  stood  in  the 
door  of  the  wheel-house  at  my  side.  My  companion 
made  a  sign  to  the  wretched  man,  at  which  he  showed 
his  teeth  in  a  ghastly  grin  and  literally  hurled  himself 
through  the  clouds  of  flying  foam  into  the  hood  over 
the  cuddy  stairs.  Herzog  laughed  grimly. 

"The  liquor!"  he  shouted  in  explanation.  "Belcher 
was  asking  my  leave  to  come  aft  of  the  bridge  and 
get  it.  Wanted  the  mate  to  bring  it  to  him.  That 
was  what  the  row  was  about." 

I  shuddered,  for  it  was  evident  that  the  captain  of 
the  Nightshade,  in  his  mad  craving  for  drink,  had 
abandoned  all  chance  for  life  and  had  gone  to  face  a 
master  more  awful  even  than  Sir  Gideon  Marske— 
the  master  whom  Sir  Gideon  himself  served  so  well. 
The  cuddy  must  have  been  two  feet  deep  in  water 
when  Belcher  reached  the  bottom  of  the  stairs,  but 
had  he  been  able  to  stand  up  it  would  have  been 
equally  all  over  with  him  a  minute  later.  A  giant 
breaker  surged  over  the  side,  sweeping  the  decks 
from  stem  to  stern,  and  hurling  Herzog  back  on  to 


ROGER  MARSKE  ARRIVES  265 

me,  clutching  wildly  for  foothold.  By  God's  grace, 
we  both  clung  to  the  doorway  till  the  flood  sagged 
out  again,  but  down  below  the  cuddy  must  have 
been  full  of  water.  The  captain  had  been  drowned 
like  a  rat  in  a  trap  in  the  foul  den  which  two  nights 
ago,  when  he  had  forced  me  to  sup  with  him,  he  had 
called  his  first-class  saloon. 

Thence  onward  all  our  concern  was  for  the  shore, 
whence  alone  could  come  our  help.  On  each  side 
of  the  wheel-house  was  a  round  glazed  port-hole, 
and  at  the  landward  one,  clinging  for  dear  life  to  a 
spoke  of  the  wheel,  I  stationed  myself.  Herzog 
stood  in  the  doorway,  and  our  eyes  strained  towards 
the  low  cliffs  of  Totland,  where  we  could  make  out 
people  running  to  and  fro  like  little  black  ants.  I 
could  understand  how  the  summer  visitors  would  be 
taking  full  advantage  of  such  a  spectacle  as  a  ship- 
wreck, which  made  no  demand  on  their  pockets — a 
gratuitous  bit  of  excitement  thrown  in,  as  it  were, 
by  kind  Providence,  for  their  amusement,  without 
charge. 

Ah,  if  those  hurrying  sightseers  could  have  known 
the  inner  history  of  that  ship-wreck — that  bound  up 
with  it  were  an  attempt  to  assassinate  the  Prime 
Minister!  the  escape,  with  which  all  England  was 
ringing,  of  a  prisoner  on  the  verge  of  the  scaffold; 
and  the  proofs  of  that  prisoner's  innocence— how 
their  tongues  would  have  wagged  as  they  battled 
with  the  gale  for  points  of  vantage  on  cliff  and  beach. 

It  was  at  least  a  comfort  to  be  certain  that  we  were 
seen,  without  undergoing  the  slow  agony  of  those 
who  are  wrecked  at  night,  and  know  not  whether 


266  MILLIONS  OF  MISCHIEF 

their  signals  have  been  observed  on  shore.  Nor 
would  there  be  the  delay,  inseparable  from  the  hours 
of  darkness,  in  getting  the  lifeboat  crew  together. 
It  was  too  far  to  distinguish  individuals  without  the 
aid  of  glasses,  but  already  we  could  make  out  signs 
of  activity  round  the  building  where  the  brave  blue 
and  white  boat  was  housed.  Little  had  I  thought, 
when  I  had  watched  her  at  a  recent  practise,  how 
soon  my  life  and  my  love,  and  my  lover's  life  and 
honor,  were  to  depend  upon  her  prowess. 

Herzog  came  close  to  me  and  made  a  speaking 
trumpet  of  his  hands.  "If  Roger  Marske  has  got 
over  the  clout  I  gave  him  last  night,  and  has  returned 
to  Totland,  he  must  be  having  a  bad  time,"  he 
shouted.  "The  flag  the  mate  ran  up  will  have  told 
the  coastguard  the  name  of  the  steamer." 

"If  he  is  there  he  is  praying  for  the  ship  to  break 
up,"  I  replied.  "Thank  God  that  Arthur,  who  must 
be  watching  us  from  that  empty  house,  does  not 
know." 

Presently,  after  what  seemed  a  year,  but  was  in 
reality  about  half  an  hour,  a  gleam  of  white  shot 
from  the  building  on  the  beach,  telling  us  the  blessed 
news  that  the  lifeboat  had  been  launched  and  was 
on  its  way.  It  was  only  a  fitful  view  we  had  of  her 
after  the  first  rush  down  the  slip,  so  enveloped  were 
we  in  showers  of  spindrift,  while  now  and  again  a 
huge  wave,  more  hungry  than  the  rest,  would  break 
right  over  us,  nearly  washing  us  from  our  foothold, 
and  plunging  the  interior  of  the  deck-house  in  dark- 
ness as  of  night. 

"Why,  what  is  it?     She  is  not  making  for  us  at 


ROGER  MARSKE  ARRIVES  267 

all!"  I  cried  in  sudden  anguish,  as  a  glimpse  of  the 
lifeboat  showed  her  to  be  steering  away  from  us 
diagonally— on  a  course  that  would  take  her  out 
to  sea.  Could  it  be  they  were  about  to  give  over  the 
attempt  to  save  us  ? 

Herzog  gave  me  a  quick  glance,  and  produced  a 
flask  from  one  of  his  inexhaustible  pockets.  "Here, 
take  a  sip  of  this,"  he  said  almost  roughly.  "We 
can't  have  you  breaking  down.  The  lifeboat's  all 
right.  She 's  got  to  allow  for  the  set  of  the  tide. ' ' 

His  words,  rather  than  the  brandy,  cheered  me, 
but  a  minute  later  I  think  I  owed  my  life  and  reason 
to  that  timely  stimulant.  For,  with  awful  swiftness, 
I  was  called  upon  to  witness  a  sight  so  appalling  that 
I  forgot  the  lessening  of  my  own  slender  chances 
which  it  entailed.  Herzog 's  forecast  was  verified. 
The  steamer  broke  in  two  just  aft  of  the  bridge,  the 
whole  forepart  collapsing  into  the  seething  surges, 
and  carrying  with  it  the  two  masts  to  which  Captain 
Belcher's  villainous  crew  were  clinging.  Above  the 
howl  of  the  tempest  the  one  wild  shriek  of  those 
poor  lost  souls  resounded,  and  then  the  wind  and 
the  waves  resumed  their  mastery  of  noise  and  vio- 
lence. All  that  remained  of  the  Nightshade  was  the 
stern,  on  which  our  battered  wheel-house  was  perched. 

"We  are  wedged  tight  in  the  shingle;  we  ought 
to  hold  out,"  was  Herzog 's  only  comment,  but  he 
belied  the  curt  consolation  of  his  words  by  the  trouble 
in  his  eyes.  I  do  not  believe  that  he  valued  his  own 
life  at  all,  and  that  the  gloom  which  settled  on  his 
usually  impassive  face  was  solely  on  my  account. 
And  he  became  restless,  sometimes  retaining  his  old 


268  MILLIONS  OF  MISCHIEF 

station  at  the  wave-washed  door  of  the  wheel-house, 
and  sometimes  joining  me  at  the  port-hole. 

Our  position  .was  now  doubly  precarious,  on  ac- 
count of  the  wreckage  with  which  we  were  sur- 
rounded, and  which  the  sea  used  as  a  battering-ram 
against  our  frail  refuge.  The  masts,  denuded  of  their 
fruit  of  human  lives,  were  tossed  by  each  advancing 
breaker  on  to  the  bank,  to  be  drawn  back  again  by  the 
suck  of  the  backwash.  More  than  once  they  struck 
the  stern,  causing  it  to  tremble  like  a  frightened 
horse,  and  though  Herzog  tried  to  comfort  me  by  say- 
ing that  the  blows  jammed  us  more  firmly,  I  knew 
well  that  if  the  wheel-house  itself  were  struck  it 
would  splinter  into  matchwood  over  our  heads. 

But  at  last  the  lifeboat  drew  near,  so  buried  in 
blinding  spray  and  in  the  troughs  of  the  rollers  that 
when  she  was  visible  at  all  she  was  but  a  blurred 
mass,  indistinct  as  to  all  detail.  She  appeared  first 
on  the  windward  side,  rowing  parallel  with  the  bank, 
in  which  her  coxswain  was  evidently  looking  for  an 
open  channel,  so  that  he  might  approach  the  rem- 
nant of  the  wreck  in  comparative  shelter.  And 
even  as  the  boat  passed  he  seemed  to  have  found 
it,  for  she  swerved  suddenly,  and  vanished  from 
our  sight  behind  the  sternmost  end  of  the  wheel- 
house,  in  which  there  was  no  port-hole  to  afford  a 
view  of  her. 

"She  must  have  shaved  our  rudder  and  propeller," 
cried  Herzog  in  unwonted  excitement.  "Come,  my 
dear  lady,  your  troubles  will  soon  be  over.  She'll 
round-to  and  hitch  on  to  us  on  this  side. ' ' 

He  made  his  way  as  fast  as  caution  would  permit 


"  They  Sprang  upon  One  Another  Like  Tigers." 

(Page  269) 


ROGER  MARSKE  ARRIVES  269 

to  the  other  window,  and  was  peering  for  the  re- 
appearance of  the  lifeboat,  when,  at  a  scream  from 
me,  he  turned  and  faced  the  doorway.  There,  clutch- 
ing the  lintel  to  prevent  himself  from  being  swept 
away,  stood  Roger  Marske,  bareheaded  and  wearing 
the  cork  jacket  of  a  lifeboatman. 

The  two  men  blinked  at  each  other  in  the  dim 
light,  as  though  to  be  very  sure,  and  then,  with  one 
accord  and  without  a  word  on  either  side,  sprang 
upon  one  another  like  tigers. 


ARTHUR  RIVINGTON'S  NARRATIVE 
CONTINUED 


CHAPTER  XXXV 

A  DOUBTFUL  FRIEND 

HAVE  to  resume  the  thread  of  my  own  per- 
sonal story  at  the  point  where,  on  the  morn- 
ing of  my  concealment  by  Herzog  in  the  va- 
cant house  at  Totland  Bay,  I  was  alarmed  by 
the  appearance  of  a  man  in  a  blue  guernsey  at  the 
window  of  the  drawing-room.  It  will  be  remembered 
that  I  was  expecting  Herzog  to  return  with  a  supply 
of  provisions,  and  that  on  drawing  aside  the  blind  I 
saw  the  stranger  instead. 

A  moment's  reflection  showed  that,  as  he  had  un- 
doubtedly seen  me  before  I  dropped  the  window 
blind,  no  good  could  be  done  by  refusing  to  speak 
to  him.  He  would  probably  go  and  tell  every  one 
he  met  that  someone  was  living  in  the  unoccupied 
house,  with  the  result  that  I  should  be  at  once  routed 
out  by  the  agents  or  owner.  So  I  raised  the  blind, 
opened  the  window,  and  beckoned  to  him.  That  I 

270 


A  DOUBTFUL  FRIEND  271 

had  made  no  mistake  in  doing  so  was  at  once  made 
plain  by  the  credentials  he  presented— a  basket  of 
provisions  and  a  note,  which  proved  to  be  from 
Herzog. 

"My  dear  friend,"  it  ran,  "R.  M.  is  off  to  London 
by  the  first  boat,  and  I  must  stick  to  him  like  a 
leech.  The  chase  will  in  all  likelihood  lead  me  to 
that  brave  little  lass  of  yours.  So  I  send  the  best 
substitute  I  can  find  at  short  notice.  I  should  not 
be  disposed  to  trust  him  too  far,  but  as  all  these  Isle 
of  Wight  fishermen  have  smuggling  blood  in  them, 
they  have  an  hereditary  antipathy  to  law  and  order. 
This  chap  has  been  told  that  you  are  an  absconding 
debtor.  His  name  is  Peter  Croal." 

My  visitor,  when  I  finished  reading,  was  regarding 
me  out  of  the  corner  of  his  eye  with  a  furtive  benev- 
olence that  was  by  no  means  pleasing.  It  was  as 
though  he  approved  of  me,  not  from  personal  attrac- 
tion, but  as  a  possible  source  of  income.  It  was  the 
sort  of  look  that  a  certain  class  of  cabmen  bestows 
on  a  schoolboy  who  may  be  held  good  for  an  exor- 
bitant fare. 

"I  am  obliged  to  you  for  bringing  me  these  things. 
Did  my  friend  give  you  anything  for  doing  so?" 
I  said. 

Mr.  Peter  Croal  drew  his  sleeve  across  his  mouth 
and  looked  thirsty.  "In  a  manner  of  speaking,  the 
gentleman  did.  Don't  he  say  so  in  the  letter?"  was 
the  tentative  reply  which  made  me  distrust  the  man 
there  and  then. 


272  MILLIONS  OF  MISCHIEF 

"He  doesn't  mention  the  amount,"  I  said,  wishing 
to  draw  him  out  and  verify  my  suspicions. 

"Drat  him  for  that!"  retorted  the  fisherman,  with 
a  fine  show  of  having  been  hardly  treated.  "The 
gentleman,  he  give  me  the  money  for  the  grub  and 
liquor,  and  'arf  a  crown  for  myself.  'But,  Croal,'  he 
says,  'that  ain't  anything  like  proper  remuneration 
for  a  kind  of  secret  job  like  this.  I  only  gives  you 
'arf-a-crown  because  it's  all  the  change  I've  got.  I'll 
put  it  in  this  here  note  as  t'other  gent  is  to  give  you 
a  sovereign.'  ' 

I  tendered  the  sum  demanded  out  of  the  little 
store  with  which  Herzog  had  supplied  me  in  case  a 
wider  flight  should  be  necessary,  but  I  did  not  believe 
a  word  of  the  story.  Herzog  had,  without  doubt, 
adequately  paid  him,  and  this  was  only  a  try-on  to 
make  the  most  of  the  bit  of  luck  that  had  come  his 
way— the  thin  edge  of  the  wedge  of  blackmail.  If 
this  was  the  spirit  in  which  Mr.  Peter  Croal  entered 
upon  his  trust  I  could  foresee  a  heavy  addition  to 
my  existing  anxieties.  He  surely  had  the  blood  of  a 
blackmailer  and  a  smuggler  in  his  veins. 

Having  spat  on  and  pocketed  the  coin,  the  fellow 
showed  no  disposition  to  go,  nor  was  I,  in  my  im- 
potent position,  able  to  suggest  departure.  He  leis- 
urely scrutinized  the  few  pictures  on  the  walls,  and 
the  furniture,  and  then  his  eye,  too  friendly  for 
safety,  traveled  slyly  back  to  me  again. 

"Pretty  little  place— this  you've  got  here  all  to 
yourself,  mister.  How  long  might  you  be  going  to 
bide  in  it  ?"  he  inquired. 

"Till  I  choose  to  leave— or  till  you  give  me  away," 


A  DOUBTFUL  FRIEND  273 

I  said,  hoping  to  measure  his  capacity  for  treachery 
by  the  extent  of  his  disclaimer. 

And  full  measure  indeed  he  gave  me.  Such  a 
plausible,  honey-tongued  rascal  as  that  Isle  of  Wight 
lobster-catcher  it  has  never  been  my  lot  to  listen 
to.  The  catastrophes  which  he  called  down  from 
Heaven  on  him  and  his  if  he  betrayed  me  made 
an  appalling  catalogue.  He  had  taken  a  fancy  to 
me,  he  avowed,  the  moment  I  drew  aside  the  blind. 
He  was  "always  one  that  stood  by  the  unfortnit." 

And  then,  suddenly,  with  a  sequence  of  ideas  that 
may  or  may  not  have  been  accidental,  he  added : 

"If  you  was  the  bloke  that  broke  jail  at  Winchester 
I  wouldn't  peach,  seeing  what  a  liking  I've  took  to 
ye.  Them  newspapers  say  he's  got  away  to  America, 
but  you  can't  believe  printed  stuff  nowadays.  Like 
as  not  he's  laying  up,  snug  and  comfortable,  in  jest 
such  a  crib  as  this. ' ' 

And  Mr.  Peter  Croat's  benevolent  gaze  roamed 
round  the  room  again,  with  one  little  corner  of  each 
mild  eye  on  me,  it  was  made  plain  later.  For  the 
unexpected  personality  of  his  remark  sent  a  shiver 
down  my  spine,  of  which  I  must  have  given  some 
visible  demonstration,  though  there  was  nothing 
to  show  that  I  had  committed  myself  in  the  incon- 
sequence of  his  next  speech.  When  he  had  done  ex- 
amining the  pictures  and  the  furniture  for  the  second 
time,  he  had  apparently  dismissed  all  thought  of  ' '  the 
bloke  who  broke  jail  at  Winchester."  His  ideas 
were  all  centered  on  the  weather  if  his  next  remark 
was  acceptable  proof. 

"  'Mazing  fine  morning,  it  be,  after  the  storm  last 


274  MILLIONS  OF  MISCHIEF 

night,  though  I  don't  allow  as  it's  settled,"  was  his 
way  of  changing  the  subject. 

"You  must  be  glad  it's  fine,  for  I  have  no  doubt 
you  are  one  of  the  lifeboat  crew,"  I  forced  myself 
to  say  to  keep  up  appearances.  I  was  somehow  more 
afraid  of  this  oily-mouthed  Island  fisherman  than  I 
had  been  of  Herzog,  and,  Heaven  knows,  that  strange 
creature  had  terrors  enough  for  a  poor  wretch  with  a 
rope  round  his  neck. 

My  allusion  to  the  lifeboat  seemed  to  annoy  Mr. 
Croal,  for  it  called  forth  the  first  expression  of  opin- 
ion from  him  that  had  a  genuine  ring  in  it. 

"Lifeboat?  Yes,  I'm  one  of  the  crew  right 
enough,"  he  exclaimed,  his  face  working  with  swift 
anger.  "But  you  don't  catch  me  going  in  her  again. 
They  ought  to  have  made  me  coxswain  when  the 
vacancy  fell  in." 

"You  have  resigned,  or  are  going  to  resign,  then?" 
I  said,  not  dreaming  how  real  ought  to  have  been  the 
interest  which  I  feigned. 

Mr.  Croal  uttered  an  ugly  laugh.  "I  shan't  do 
no  such  foolishness  as  resigning,"  he  replied  bitterly. 
"I  shall  wait  till  there's  a  wreck,  and  then  let  'em 
go  short-handed.  It  may  come  to-day,  or  it  may  come 
a  year  off,  but  the  time's  bound  to  come  when  she  puts 
off  without  Peter  Croal  and  Peter  Croal 's  mate,  Bill 
Spicer.  There'll  be  a  fine  howdy-do  when  we  don't 
answer  the  call." 

It  was  not  for  me  to  voice  my  disgust  at  his  callous 
selfishness,  and  I  fear  he  took  my  silence  for  approval ; 
for  he  continued  to  expatitate  on  the  plight  in  which 
the  crew  would  be  when  deprived,  without  notice, 


A  DOUBTFUL  FRIEND  275 

of  the  services  of  two  of  the  oldest  members.  Had 
not  my  liberty  and  life  been  in  the  fellow's  keeping 
I  would  have  kicked  him  into  the  garden  and  over 
the  cliff. 

To  my  relief,  he  at  last  showed  signs  of  going, 
though  he  was  not  to  depart  without  administering 
another  shock  to  my  sorely-tried  nerves.  Having 
drawn  up  the  blind,  to  make  his  exit  by  the  window 
through  which  he  had  entered,  he  looked  back  at  me 
and  grinned. 

"Might  be  a  chap  escaping  from  jail,  eh,  mister — 
using  a  winder  this  way  when  there's  doors  to  the 
house, ' '  he  said,  watching  me  narrowly. 

"Yes,  it  is  inconvenient,  but  it  will  not  be  for 
long,"  I  replied,  thinking  how  much  safer  I  could 
make  myself  if  I  were  the  truculent  murderer  I  was 
believed  to  be.  For  then  Mr.  Peter  Croal  would  cer- 
tainly not  have  left  the  house  alive. 

"No  offense,  mister,  I  hope?"  he  persisted,  with 
the  same  evil  leer. 

"Offense?  No,  why  should  there  be?"  I  returned, 
with  what  carelessness  I  could  command. 

Then  only  did  he  go,  giving  the  gratuitous  infor- 
mation as  he  lurched  out  into  the  garden  that  the 
wind  was  backing,  and  that  there  would  be  another 
blow  from  the  westward  before  long. 

Though  glad  to  be  rid  of  him,  I  could  not  hide 
from  myself  that  my  danger  of  discovery  had  been 
increased  tenfold  by  Herzog's  employment  of  this 
doubtful  medium.  I  could  only  conclude  that  my 
late  companion  had  weighed  the  matter  carefully, 
and  that  he  preferred  this  risk  for  me  to  letting  Roger 


276  MILLIONS  OF  MISCHIEF 

Marske  run  loose.  Well,  if  the  course  lie  had  taken 
led  him  to  Janet,  I  would  cheerfully  suffer  the  un- 
easiness with  which  Croal's  manner  had  filled  me. 
There  was  a  reward  of  two  hundred  pounds  offered 
for  my  recapture,  and  this  plausible  longshoreman  was 
avarice  personified.  Why  did  he  keep  harping  on  that 
escape  from  jail,  if  his  cunning  wits  had  not  given 
him  an  inkling  of  the  truth  ? 

These  doubts  and  fears  worried  me  throughout  the 
lovely  summer  day  spent  behind  the  drawn  blinds 
of  the  vacant  house,  but  when  twilight  began  to  fall 
no  one  had  come  to  disturb  my  solitude. 


CHAPTER  XXXVI 

DISCOVERY 

N  the  gathering  dusk,  strangely  enough,  my 
courage  rose.  The  working  hours  of  the  day, 
in  which  Mr.  Peter  Croal,  if  so  minded, 
might  have  set  the  sleuth-hounds  of  the  law 
on  my  track,  were  gone,  and  it  was  improbable  that  I 
should  be  molested  till  the  morrow.  I  assured  myself 
that  the  greedy  fisherman  had  possessed  less  brains 
than  I  had  credited  him  with,  and  I  was  glad  that  I 
had  not  yielded  to  impulse  and  sought  some  other 
refuge. 

For  there  had  been  minutes  during  the  long  day 
when  I  should  have  relieved  the  strain  by  fleeing 
to  the  woods,  or  even  appropriating  a  boat  on  the 
shore  and  putting  out  to  sea,  had  it  not  been  that  I 
should  then  have  lost  touch  with  Herzog  and  his 
search  for  Janet.  I  cannot,  in  justice  to  myself,  call 
that  restless  longing  to  be  gone  cowardice,  for,  re- 
member, please,  I  was  not  avoiding  death  from  fear 
of  the  thing  itself,  but  because  the  death  I  should 
have  to  die  if  I  were  taken  would  be  that  of  a  felon— 
condemned,  moreover,  for  a  crime  he  did  not  commit. 
Wearied  with  the  gloom  of  living  out  the  anxious 
277 


278  MILLIONS  OF  MISCHIEF 

day  behind  drawn  blinds,  I  mounted  to  an  attic 
at  the  top  of  the  house  on  the  seaward  side,  and 
seated  myself  at  the  window.  I  dared  not  open  it  for 
a  breath  of  fresh  air,  but  as  the  blind  here  was  raised, 
I  had  a  clear  view  without  any  risk  of  being  seen  in 
the  interior  darkness  of  the  room. 

The  after-glow  of  a  superb  sunset  was  lingering 
in  the  west,  while  in  the  bay  the  lights  of  yachts  and 
pilot-cutters  twinkled  like  fireflies.  The  clearness 
of  the  atmosphere  on  a  night  so  calm,  presaged  rain 
and  storm,  lending  probability  to  CroaPs  prediction 
that  the  dirty  weather  would  soon  be  repeated. 
Though  the  casement  was  closed,  the  tinkle  of  a 
banjo  came  quite  clearly  to  me  across  the  water  from 
one  of  the  yachts,  and  sometimes  voices  and  careless 
laughter. 

The  peaceful  scene  clashed  with  my  own  sad  case, 
and  raised  in  my  seared  heart  fierce  rebellion  against 
my  lot.  I  was  as  guiltless  as  any  of  those  gay  pleasure 
seekers  out  yonder,  yet  here  was  I,  sneaking  in  holes 
and  corners  from  my  fellowmen — an  outcast,  cursed 
the  length  and  breadth  of  the  land,  for  another's 
sin.  My  thoughts  flew  back  for  the  hundredth  time 
to  Herzog  and  his  quest  for  Janet.  Had  he  found 
my  brave  darling,  and  had  she  snatched  from  the 
peril  that  must  have  overtaken  her,  the  proofs  that 
would  bring  that  sin  home? 

Suddenly  all  my  repining  and  vague  surmise  were 
crystallized  into  a  very  present  emergency.  Among 
the  shrubs  in  the  garden  below,  half  way  between 
the  house  and  the  brink  of  the  cliff,  stood  the  mo- 
tionless figure  of  a  man.  It  was  nearly  dark  now, 


DISCOVERY  279 

and  I  could  not  distinguish  his  features,  or  even  his 
style  of  dress,  but  from  his  attitude  he  seemed  to  be 
taking  a  leisurely  survey  of  the  house.  I  judged  the 
height  of  the  man  to  be  about  that  of  Peter  Croal; 
yet,  if  it  were  that  smooth-tongued  rascal,  why  should 
he  loiter  like  that  instead  of  making  his  presence 
known? 

I  do  not  imagine,  though  all  things  are  possible, 
that  any  one  who  reads  this  my  narrative  has  ever 
been  convicted  of  murder,  sentenced  to  death,  made 
good  his  escape  on  the  eve  of  execution,  and  dodged 
about  the  world  in  the  full  knowledge  that  recapture 
meant  the  instant  carrying  out  of  the  sentence.  If 
there  be  any  such  I  shall  have  his  sympathy  when  I 
say  that  I  was  frightened  by  the  sight  of  that  motion- 
less, watching  figure  in  the  garden.  The  ordinary 
reader  will  probably  once  more  call  me  a  coward.  Nor 
can  I  find  fault  if  he  does. 

Again  I  was  the  victim  of  a  hundred  conjectures, 
the  most  salient  being  that  Croal  had  informed 
against  me  and  was  waiting  for  the  police  to  procure 
admission  for  them.  He  would  perhaps  hide  them, 
when  they  came,  in  the  shrubs  down  there,  and  then, 
under  the  guise  of  friendship,  induce  me  to  let  him 
in  through  the  drawing-room  window,  when  there 
would  be  a  rush  and  all  would  be  over. 

But  no;  that  was  not  the  programme;  or,  if  it 
were,  his  planning  as  to  ambush  had  been  laid 
already.  For,  without  being  joined  by  any  one  else, 
the  watcher  advanced  toward  the  house,  and  as  he 
stepped  from  the  obscurity  of  the  shrubs  disclosed 
the  unmistakable  glow  of  a  cigar.  Mr.  Peter  Croal's 


280  MILLIONS  OF  MISCHIEF 

smoking  would  assuredly  have  been  done  through  the 
medium  of  a  clay  pipe. 

It  was  best  to  be  on  the  spot— to  confront  this  new 
development  at  close  grips— so,  making  no  noise  in 
case  this  prowler  of  the  night  had  only  been  led  by 
curiosity  into  the  grounds  of  the  empty  house,  and 
was  unaware  of  my  presence,  I  groped  my  way  down- 
stairs. As  I  was  entering  the  drawing-room  from  the 
hall,  stumbling  slightly  in  the  dark  on  the  door-mat, 
there  came  a  tap  at  the  window,  followed  by  another 
and  another.  I  stood  still,  scarcely  breathing,  and 
the  tapping  ceased. 

A  gravel  path  ran  close  to  the  window,  and,  after 
a  pause  that  seemed  interminable,  I  heard  the 
" crunch"  of  a  light  footstep.  It  did  not  sound  like 
the  tread  of  that  clumsy  sea-dog  Peter  Croal.  I 
hoped  that  the  unseen  intruder  was  going  away, 
though  why,  if  he  had  no  knowledge  that  any  one 
was  in  the  house,  he  should  have  come  and  tapped 
at  the  window,  I  could  not  attempt  to  divine. 

But  there  was  no  repetition  of  the  sound  betoken- 
ing departure.  It  was  merely  the  impatient  shuffling 
of  a  foot  by  some  one  balked  of  his  purpose.  My 
visitor  was  still  there,  as  was  evidenced  by  a  re- 
currence of  the  drumming  on  the  window  pane. 
And  then,  just  as  I  was  crossing  the  ink-black  dark- 
ness of  the  room  to  open  the  window  and  end  the 
suspense,  I  paused  in  consternation  at  the  sound  of 
my  own  name,  spoken  in  no  hostile  tone : 

"Rivington!    Are  you  there,  Rivington?" 

"Who  is  it?"  I  asked,  breathless. 

"It  is  I— Ralph  Garden.    You  may  safely  open  to 


DISCOVERY  281 

me.  I  come  as  a  friend, ' '  was  the  reply  which  caused 
me  to  undo  the  catch  and  admit  the  speaker.  He 
stepped  into  the  darkness  of  the  room,  but  not  before 
I  had  caught  a  glimpse  of  his  face  and  assured  myself 
that  it  was  really  the  young  officer  who  had  recognized 
me  at  Lord  Alphington's. 

"This  will  surprise  you,  after  the  way  I  treated 
you  the  other  night,"  he  said,  when  I  had  refastened 
the  window.  ' '  The  fact  is  that  you  really  have  Lady 
Muriel  to  thank  for  it." 

"God  bless  her!"  I  rejoined.  "What  most  sur- 
prises me  is  that  you  should  have  discovered  that  I 
was  here." 

"It  is  that  that  brought  me— at  Muriel's  instance," 
he  replied,  going  on  to  explain  briefly  that  Croal 
was  the  source  of  his  information. 

It  appeared  that  after  my  sentence,  but  before  my 
escape,  Garden  had  been  out  sea-fishing  in  Croal's 
boat.  All  England  was  then  talking  of  me  and  of 
my  supposed  crime,  and,  in  discussing  the  trial  Car- 
den  had  mentioned  that  I  had  been  at  "Woolwich  with 
him  for  a  short  time.  That  day  Croal  had  come  to 
him  and  informed  him  that  a  man  who  might  be  the 
escaped  convict  was  concealed  in  the  vacant  house 
on  the  cliff.  As  he  was  not  sure,  and  had  been  paid  to 
supply  the  mysterious  hermit  with  food,  he  would  be 
glad  if  Garden  would  contrive  to  get  a  look  at  him, 
so  that  if  he  proved  to  be  Eivington  he,  Croal,  might 
claim  the  reward.  If  not,  there  would  be  no  harm 
done,  and  he  could  go  on  making  a  smaller  profit  by 
carrying  provisions. 

"Well,"   proceeded   Garden,   "this  put  me   in   a 


282  MILLIONS  OF  MISCHIEF 

precious  awkward  position.  I  knew  that  you  were 
Rivington,  and  guessed  that  something  had  occurred 
to  make  you  go  into  closer  hiding.  But  I  also  knew 
how  interested  Muriel  was  in  you  on  account  of  Miss 
Chilmark,  and  how  staunchly  she  believed  in  your 
innocence.  I — well,  the  fact  is  I  have  reasons  for 
wishing  to  stand  well  with  Muriel— and  I  knew  she 
would  be  furious  if  I  were  instrumental  in  your  re- 
capture. So  I  went  straight  to  her  and  told  her  what 
had  happened,  at  the  same  time  assuring  her  that 
there  was  no  mistake  about  it — that  you  are  the  man 
supposed  to  be  nearing  America.  She  is  bent  on  help- 
ing you." 

"Again  God  bless  her,"  I  said,  adding,  with  an 
instinct  for  the  real  source  of  danger:  "But  what  of 
Croal?" 

"He  is  to  come  to  see  me  to-morrow,  when  he 
expects  to  hear  the  result  of  my  inspection,  if  I  have 
been  able  to  obtain  one,"  Garden  replied.  "If  I  do 
as  Muriel  wishes,  I  shall  have  to  act  the  casuist  and 
tell  him  that  I  didn't  recognize  you." 

All  the  time  that  he  had  been  speaking  to  me  I 
had  been  wishing  that  I  could  see  his  face,  so  as  to 
better  judge  whether  he  believed  in  me  himself,  or 
was  only  inclined  to  befriend  me  for  Lady  Muriel's 
sake.  That  he  was  running  a  very  great  personal 
risk  in  doing  so,  entailing  far  more  serious  conse- 
quences than  the  wrecking  of  his  professional  career, 
was  not  to  be  denied.  It  was  due  to  him  to  know 
all  the  facts  of  the  case  before  he  ran  that  risk,  and 
I  was  also  moved  to  full  confidence  by  a  frantic  desire 
to  have  one  solitary  human  being's  sympathy  on  the 


DISCOVERY  283 

merits  of  the  case.  Lady  Muriel's  kindly  interest 
was  very  sweet  and  touching,  but  I  could  not  disguise 
from  myself  that  it  sprang  from  girlish  friendship, 
and  that  if  she  had  not  known  Janet  I  should  never 
have  entered  into  her  thoughts.  I  craved  for  some- 
thing more  than  sentiment— for  the  honest  belief  of 
an  honest  man. 

"I  should  not  wish  you  to  act  against  your  con- 
victions on  my  behalf,  but  you  will  be  better  able 
to  judge  when  you  know  the  secret  of  my  escape  from 
Winchester, ' '  I  said.  ' '  Then,  if  you  choose  to  espouse 
my  cause,  you  will  at  least  do  so  with  your  eyes 
open. ' ' 

And  I  told  him  everything,  suppressing  only,  as 
in  honor  bound  to  the  man  whom  I  believed  to  be 
at  the  eleventh  hour  trying  to  serve  me,  the  true 
name  of  Sir  Gideon  Marske's  emissary.  In  my  dis- 
closure Herzog  was  called  "Doctor  Barrables,"  and 
so,  without  any  slip  on  my  part,  he  remained  to  the 
end.  From  Ralph  Garden's  boyish  point  of  view, 
Herzog  did  not  seem  to  matter  at  all.  All  his  ideas 
ran  on  Roger  Marske,  and  the  implication  of  him  and 
his  father  in  my  life-tragedy. 

"By  Jove,  Rivington!"  he  exclaimed,  as  his  hand 
sought  and  gripped  mine  in  the  darkness,  "you  have 
convinced  me  now.  I'll  be  square  with  you.  When 
I  came  I  was  in  Muriel's  interests  alone,  but  I'm  in 
yours,  and  in  those  of  that  plucky  girl  of  yours,  now. 
What  is  best  to  be  done  ?  We  seem  to  be  in  the  thick 
of  a  business  that  will  set  England  ablaze.  Those 
blackguard  Marskes ! ' ' 

I  am  no  diplomatist,  but  I  saw  that  I  could  have 


284  MILLIONS  OF  MISCHIEF 

taken  no  surer  road  to  Ralph  Garden's  favor  than 
by  disclosing  his  rival's  villainy.  Had  it  not  been  for 
the  hearty  ring  in  his  voice  I  should  have  discounted 
the  value  of  his  new-found  trust,  as  being  based  solely 
on  that  rivalry;  but  there  was  no  mistaking  that  the 
'young  soldier  was  an  honest  convert  to  my  innocence 
— no  matter  if  his  hopes  for  Roger  Marske's  downfall 
had  fathered  the  thought.  The  fact  that  here  was  a 
new  ally,  gave  me  comfort. 

1 '  But  nothing  has  been  proved  against  either  of  the 
Marskes, "  I  pointed  out.  "Till  Janet  is  found  I 
am  the  only  witness,  and  I  am  worse  than  useless. 
The  moment  I  stepped  out  into  the  open  to  prefer  a 
charge  I  should  be  hanged  out  of  hand.  And  I  could 
not  even  hope  for  post  mortem  rehabilitation,  for  I 
cannot  expect  the  man,  whom  I  must  continue  to 
call  'Doctor  Barrables/  to  come  forward  and  impli- 
cate himself." 

"I  was  struck  by  that  fellow  the  other  night," 
said  Garden.  "He  seemed  a  strong  man,  but  can 
you  be  sure  that  he  is  running  straight  in  your  in- 
terests ?  Is  he  really  likely  to  produce  Miss  Chilmark, 
and  any  proofs  she  may  have  discovered,  if  he  is  lucky 
enough  to  discover  her  ? ' ' 

' '  I  would  not  trust  him  an  inch  unless  our  interests 
were  identical,"  I  replied.  "But  as  they  happen  to 
be  so,  I  could  have  no  more  powerful  support.  I  am 
convinced  that  the  aim  of  his  life  is  to  get  the  Marskes 
on  the  hip,  and  I  have  even  thought  lately  that  he 
went  into  this  business  not  only  because  he  was  com- 
pelled to,  but  with  that  end  in  view. ' ' 

There  was  silence  between  us  in  the  darkness,  and 


DISCOVERY  285 

I  did  not  break  it,  for  I  knew  that  Garden  was  striv- 
ing for  a  way  to  cut  the  Gordian  knot. 

' '  I  give  it  up, ' '  he  announced  at  length.  ' '  The  first 
essential  seems  to  be  to  baffle  the  inquisitive  Croal,  but 
as  to  the  wider  issue  of  how  to  save  you  in  the  event 
of  recapture  I  am  all  at  sea.  If  I  go  with  a  yarn  like 
this  to  Lord  Alphington,  he  will  think  I've  been 
getting  it  up  for  Marske." 

There  was  no  gainsaying  the  force  of  that  argu- 
ment. With  the  wild  improbability  of  the  uncorrob- 
orated story,  my  advocate  would  start  heavily  handi- 
capped, but  the  fact  that  he  was  Roger  Marske 's  rival 
would  get  him  laughed  out  of  court  at  once. 

"I  can  only  suggest,"  said  I,  "that  you  should 
submit  the  whole  thing  to  Lady  Muriel,  and  be  guided 
by  her.  One  woman's  wit  has  gone  far  to  help  me 
already,  and  I  am  quite  willing  to  trust  that  of  an- 
other for  this  part  of  the  tangle." 

"By  George,  Rivington,  but  that's  the  line  to 
take,"  Garden  exclaimed  enthusiastically.  "I'll  be 
off  and  try  and  catch  her  in  the  garden  at  'Ard- 
more '  to-night.  You  must  buck  up,  old  man.  Muriel 
will  pull  you  through." 

But  when  he  had  passed  out  of  the  window  I 
smiled  sadly  to  myself  at  the  young  man's  ardor. 
How  much  of  it  was  for  me,  and  how  much  for  the 
sweet  collaboration  which  it  entailed?  I  do  not 
attempt  to  excuse  my  bitterness.  Not  many  months 
before,  I  myself  had  gone  forth  on  any  pretext  to 
meet  my  own  dear  Janet,  and  now  I  was  a  branded 
fugitive  with  a  price  on  my  neck,  and  Janet — where 
was  she? 


286  MILLIONS  OF  MISCHIEF 

My  secret,  too— the  secret  of  my  hiding-place,  that 
alone  stood  between  me  and  the  gallows — had  passed 
into  the  keeping  of  others.  Well-affected  they  might 
be,  and  probably  were  in  a  silly,  romantic,  senti- 
mental way,  for  which  I  was  grateful;  but  I  and  my 
peril  had  not  the  first  place  in  their  efforts  at  aid. 
In  Janet's  true  heart  alone  was  I  myself  the  real 
reason  for  a  whole-souled  sacrifice. 

I  repeat  that  I  make  no  apology  for  this  frame  of 
mind,  but  it  was  the  one  in  which  I  flung  myself 
on  the  couch  in  the  drawing-room  of  the  empty  house 
and  snatched  a  fitful  sleep. 


CHAPTER  XXXVII 

THE   PREMIER   TAKES   SNUFF 

SPENT  the  morning  of  the  next  day  in  wait- 
ing and  listening.  I  was  filled  with  a  pre- 
monition of  impending  disaster.  I  dreaded 
the  advent  of  Croal,  lest  I  should  be  unable 
to  control  my  resentment  at  his  treachery,  and  I  was 
already  apprehensive  of  the  outcome  of  Lady  Mu- 
riel's championship.  I  had  hung  my  life  on  such  a 
very  slender  peg — the  discretion  of  an  impulsive  and 
affectionate  girl.  If  she  had  made  a  slip  in  the  advice 
she  gave  to  Garden  I  might  be  called  upon  to  surren- 
der at  any  moment. 

And  if  anything  were  wanting  to  depress  me  fur- 
ther the  weather  was  enough  to  do  it.  By  ten  o'clock 
it  was  evident  that  Mr.  Peter  Croal's  meteorological 
prediction  was  to  be  fulfilled.  A  sudden  darkening 
of  the  room  caused  me  to  go  up  to  peep  from  the  attic 
window,  and  I  saw  that  the  western  sky  was  heavily 
banked  with  advancing  clouds.  Then  a  stiff  breeze 
sprang  up,  and  before  noon  the  storm  king  was 
abroad  in  full  majesty.  A  furious  gale  was  tearing  in 
past  the  Needles,  driving  straight  up  the  Solent,  and 
raising  such  a  sea  as  is  seldom  seen  on  that  protected 

287 


288  MILLIONS  OF  MISCHIEF 

coast.  A  nrile  or  more  off  shore  on  the  Shingle  Bank 
the  breakers  were  surging  and  leaping  like  savage 
beasts  hungry  for  prey.  The  thundering  crash  of 
them  reached  me  plainly  between  the  gusts  of  wind, 

I  went  downstairs  again,  fearful  even  of  the  sound 
of  my  own  footsteps,  and  I  was  wondering  how  soon- 
Garden  would  bring  me  news,  when  a  sharp  double 
tap  at  the  window  caused  me  to  hold  my  breath. 
Garden  had  come  in  stealthier  fashion  last  night, 
and  it  was  improbable  that  he  would  relax  his  pre- 
cautions to-day.  Mr.  Peter  Croal's  tap  had  been  more 
humble  and  insinuating.  A  thrill  shot  through  me 
as  I  thought  that  it  might  be  Herzog,  returned  with 
Janet  and  the  proofs  of  my  innocence,  and  therefore 
careless  of  being  overheard.  On  the  other  hand,  that 
bold  summons  might  mean  the  end  of  all  things— the 
arrival  of  the  police  or  prison  warders. 

If  the  latter,  resistance  or  attempted  flight  would 
be  futile ;  so,  with  a  desperate  heart-cry  that  it  might 
be  the  happy  alternative,  I  wrenched  aside  the  blind 
— to  meet  the  gaze  of  neither  Herzog  nor  the  officers 
of  the  law. 

He  who  demanded  admission  was  Lord  Alphington, 
the  man  whom  I  had  been  released  to  slay.  His 
stately  figure  was  drawn  up  to  its  full  height,  and 
his  fine  face  wore  a  sternly-expectant  expression  that 
filled  me  with  dismay.  I  knew  what  had  happened. 
Lady  Muriel  had  thrown  me  on  her  father's  mercy, 
which,  as  Herzog  had  said,  would  be  equivalent  to 
throwing  me  to  a  wolf  chained  with  red  tape.  By 
virtue  of  his  office  he  would  have  to  fall  on  me  and 
rend  me. 


THE  PREMIER  TAKES  SNUFF          289 

I  drew  up  the  blind,  and,  unfastening  the  window, 
gave  him  admission.  Now  that  the  die  was  cast,  and 
there  was  to  be  no  more  hole-and-corner  work,  I  felt 
a  man  once  more.  I  who  had  been  compelled  to  skulk 
would  now  come  into  the  open. 

"Am  I  to  address  you  as  Mr.  Martin  or  Captain 
Rivington  ? ' '  said  the  Premier,  as  he  stepped  over  the 
threshold,  gazing  curiously  round  him. 

"You  have  been  told  that  I  am  Rivington,  the  es- 
caped convict?" 

"By  my  daughter,  who  told  me  a  lot  of  other  in- 
credible things." 

"If  I  can  convince  your  lordship  of  the  truth  of 
the  other  incredible  things  by  admitting  Lady 
Muriel's  first  statement  I  shall  be  fortunate,"  said 
I.  "Yes,  I  am  Arthur  Rivington,  and  I  was  practi- 
cally released — escaped  is  not  the  word  for  it — to  kill 
you. ' ' 

He  produced  a  gold  snuff-box,  took  a  pinch,  and 
glanced  out  of  the  window.  "Gad,  how  it  blows," 
he  said.  "That  steamer  will  be  on  the  Shingles  if 
she  doesn't  take  care.  Well,"  he  added,  turning  his 
mocking  gaze  on  me,  "why  don't  you  kill  me  now? 
You  will  never  get  a  better  chance?" 

"I  never  intended  to  kill  you,  my  lord,"  I  began 
hotly.  ' '  If  you  think  that ' ' 

But  he  stopped  me  with  a  quick  imperious  gesture. 
"Do  not  trouble  to  plead  on  that  count  of  the  in- 
dictment," he  laughed  harshly.  "Whatever  your 
character,  you  have  but  a  poor  wit,  Captain  Rivington, 
or  you  would  have  known  that  I  should  not  have 
come  here  alone  and  unarmed  if  I  had  credited  that 


290  MILLIONS  OF  MISCHIEF 

story.  What  I  am  concerned  with  is  your  guilt  in 
that  baser  crime  of  which  you  were  convicted." 

"I  am  the  victim  of  a  miscarriage  of  justice,"  I 
replied  sullenly,  "and  I  can  assure  your  lordship 
that  the  plot  against  your  life  was  no  myth,  so  far 
as  the  principals  in  the  background  were  concerned. 
Whether  the  man  who  called  himself  Doctor  Barrables 
was  in  earnest  I  am  not  competent  to  judge." 

"It  strikes  me  as  more  like  a  plot  on  the  part  of 
that  man  against  Sir  Gideon  Marske's  reputation 
than  against  my  life, ' '  the  Premier  remarked  thought- 
fully. "However,  that  is  not  the  point  at  issue.  I 
have  to  deal  with  you  promptly,  or  I  shall  become 
legally  accessory  to  your  alleged  crime— a  pretty  ket- 
tle of  fish.  Just  run  through  the  main  heads  of  Miss 
Chilmark's  action,  so  far  as  it  is  known  to  you,  lead- 
ing up  to  her  disappearance  and  Mr.  Roger  Marske's 
supposed  connection  with  the  case.  Be  concise, 
please. ' ' 

So  once  again,  snatching  a  grain  of  comfort  from 
his  use  of  the  phrase  "alleged  crime,"  I  sketched  the 
occurrences  that  had  followed  my  escape,  dwelling  on 
Janet's  explanation  of  my  sister's  dying  words,  on 
Roger  Marske's  attempt  to  capture  or  kill  me  in  the 
Branksome  pines,  and  on  his  departure  for  London 
at  a  moment's  notice  when  he  found  that  Janet  was 
going  up. 

' '  Be  sure,  my  lord,  that  that  was  the  act  of  a  guilty 
conscience,"  I  urged.  "He  must  have  suspected  that 
Miss  Chilmark  had  been  to  my  mother's  old  home 
and  had  there  discovered  the  name  of  Danvers  Crane, 
which  would  eventually  bring  her  on  his  trail." 


THE  PREMIER  TAKES  SNUFF          291 

I  labored  the  point  advisedly,  for  I  was  aware  that 
Marske's  abrupt  and  inadequately  explained  de- 
parture had  been  noticed,  if  not  resented,  by  Lord 
Alphington. 

"Humph!"  he  muttered,  taking  snuff  again.  "All 
this  sounds  mighty  like  mere  title-tattle.  Still — " 
He  broke  off  suddenly  and  strode  to  the  window, 
where,  after  a  minute's  reflection,  his  attention  was 
diverted  to  what  he  saw. 

' '  I  knew  it.  There  '11  be  a  wreck, ' '  he  cried.  ' '  That 
steamer  is  almost  in  the  breakers.  The  clumsy  beg- 
gars are  trying  to  put  back  to  Yarmouth  without 
proper  sea-room." 

I  could  not  work  up  any  enthusiasm  about  a  vessel 
in  distress  just  then,  and  I  respectfully  but  firmly 
brought  him  back  to  the  subject. 

"My  lord,  I  should  be  greatly  obliged  if  you  would 
ease  my  suspense  by  informing  me  how  you  propose 
to  deal  with  me,"  I  said. 

He  cast  another  glance  on  the  struggling  steamer, 
and  then  turned  upon  me  with  such  impetuosity  that 
I  took  it  for  anger.  And  so,  in  a  sense,  it  was,  though 
not  for  me.  It  was  the  irritation  of  the  official  mind 
brought  into  conflict  with  private  influences. 

"Look  here,"  he  blustered,  taking  snuff  furiously, 
"there  is  one  thing  in  your  favor  which  inclines 
me  toward  you  in  spite  of  my  better  judgment.  You 
saved  my  daughter's  life,  and  have  not  once  referred 
to  it." 

"I  have  been  convicted  of  murder,  my  lord,  but 
that  is  no  reason  why,  being  innocent,  I  should  not 
endeavor  to  remain  a  gentleman,"  I  replied. 


292  MILLIONS  OF  MISCHIEF 

It  was  a  pompous  speech,  which  I  should  have 
laughed  at  myself  in  happier  days,  but  it  struck  home. 
It  made  his  lordship  swear. 

"D you,"  he  cried,  his  gray  mustache  bristling. 

"You  have  put  me  in  a  fine  hole,  sir.  Now  listen 
to  me.  I  cannot  be  mixed  up  in  shielding  an  escaped 
convict,  and  I  shall  see  to  it  that  information  of  your 
whereabouts  is  duly  furnished  to  the  authorities.  But 
in  consideration  of  your  having  saved  Lady  Muriel 
Crawshay  's  life,  I  shall  stay  my  hand  for  twenty-four 
hours— on  the  chance  that  Miss  Chilmark  may  return 
with  news  that  may  be  of  service  to  you. ' ' 

It  was  a  concession,  and  I  was  about  to  thank  him 
for  it,  when  my  eyes,  facing  the  window,  saw  what 
was  for  the  moment  hidden  from  him.  The  steamer 
had  grounded  on  the  Shingles,  and  the  great  white 
seas  were  engulfing  her.  An  unconscious  gesture  on 
my  part  caused  Lord  Alphington  to  turn  seaward. 
He  caught  my  meaning  at  once,  and  hurried  to  the 
window,  I  following. 

The  Prime  Minister  on  his  holiday  was  as  smaller 
men;  he  had  provided  himself  with  a  pair  of  field- 
glasses,  and,  having  unslung  them,  he  was  proceeding 
to  focus  the  wreck,  when  round  the  corner  of  the 
house,  into  his  field  of  vision,  walked  Roger  Marske. 
My  enemy's  eyes  glanced  eagerly  over  Lord  Alphing- 
ton's  shoulder  at  me. 

"My  lord,  I  have  been  inquiring  everywhere," 
he  panted.  "I  rejoice  to  have  found  you — to  put 
you  on  your  guard.  You  do  not  know  who  that 
fellow  is,  whom  you  have  admitted  to  your  table  and 
your  intimacy." 


THE  PREMIER  TAKES  SNUFF          293 

Before  any  reply  could  be  made,  a  sharp  report, 
heard  above  the  strife  of  the  elements,  assailed  our 
ears— the  sound  of  the  signal  mortar  at  the  coast- 
guard station,  fired  to  call  the  lifeboat  crew  together. 

With  exasperating  interest  in  the  coming  event, 
the  Premier  pulled  out  his  watch.  "Now  I  wonder 
how  long  the  rascals  will  take  to  man  the  boat?"  he 
reflected  aloud.  "What  was  that  you  were  saying; 
Marske  ?  The  wind  and  sea  were  making  such  a  noise 
I  didn't  quite  catch  it." 

Heavens,  how  I  exulted  in  that  diplomatic  fiction 
— sign  that  the  great  statesman  meant  to  abide  by 
his  promise.  For  there  was  no  doubt  that  he  had  heard 
every  word  of  the  incipient  accusation,  and  was 
merely  sparring  for  time.  Marske  repeated  his  words 
with  redoubled  venom,  every  syllable  accented  with 
desperate  hate,  Lord  Alphington  surely  noted. 

"Who  is  this  gentleman?  Why,  Mr.  Martin,  of 
course,  who  saved  Muriel's  life  so  gallantly  last 
week,"  Lord  Alphington  replied  calmly. 

"It  doesn't  matter  what  he  has  done  or  what  he 
calls  himself,"  Roger  Marske  vociferated  loudly. 
"That  man  is  Arthur  Rivington,  who  was  condemned 
at  last  Assizes  and  escaped  from  prison  two  days  be- 
fore v  execution." 

Lord  Alphington 's  ripple  of  silvery  laughter  was  a 
revelation  in  the  art  of  polite  sneering.  "My  dear 
Marske,  what  a  hallucination,"  he  said.  "Ah, 
perhaps  that  blow  accounts  for  it.  What's  the  matter 
with  your  head?" 

With  difficulty  my  enemy  choked  down  an  oath, 
and  I  noticed  for  the  first  time  a  discolored  swelling 


294  MILLIONS  OF  MISCHIEF 

on  his  left  temple,  partly  hidden  by  his  cloth  golfing 
cap. 

"I  met  with  a  slight  accident  last  night— in  Lon- 
don. It  has  nothing  to  do  with  my  statement  about 
that  man,  which  you  will  find  to  be  correct,"  he  re- 
plied. "Be  guided  by  me,  my  lord,  and  go  and  fetch 
the  village  policeman  while  I  stand  guard  over  Riv- 
ington.  I  have  a  revolver." 

As  he  spoke  he  produced  the  pistol,  and  well  I 
knew  what  my  fate  would  be  if  I  were  alone  with 
him.  He  would  shoot  me  like  a  dog  and  plead  self- 
defense.  But  the  Premier's  word  was  as  good  as  his 
bond. 

"Tut-tut,  put  that  thing  up  and  be  sensible,  or, 
if  you  can't  do  that,  go  and  see  a  doctor,"  he  said 
impatiently.  "Come,  Mr.  Martin,  I  am  all  agog 
to  witness  this  excitement.  Let  us  go  down  to  the 
beach  and  see  the  lifeboat  launched." 

It  was  stepping  out  into  the  open  with  a  vengeance, 
and  powerful  as  was  the  protector  at  my  side  I  felt 
that  I  was  lost  if  Marske  went  himself  for  the  police. 
But  any  hesitation  on  my  part  would  have  stultified 
the  generous  position  taken  up  by  the  Premier,  and 
for  some  reason — probably  because  he  would  not  let 
me  out  of  his  sight— Marske  did  not  take  that  course. 
He  followed  Lord  Alphington  and  myself  from  the 
vacant  house,  and  so  down  the  chine  to  the  shore, 
where  we  took  our  places  among  the  fast-growing 
crowd  of  spectators  round  the  lifeboat-house. 

Lord  Alphington,  that  astute  mover  of  pawns  in 
the  game  of  life,  kept  up  a  semblance  of  intense 
interest  in  the  breathless  arrivals  of  members  of  the 


THE  PREMIER  TAKES  SNUFF          295 

crew.  Standing,  stop-watch  in  hand,  he  asked  ques- 
tions of  bystanders  and  counted  the  brown-visaged, 
blue  guernseyed  fisherman  as  they  passed  into  the 
shed,  where  the  willing  "helpers"  were  already  pre- 
paring the  boat  for  her  journey. 

Away  across  the  mile  and  a  half  of  angry  sea  the 
steamer  was  plainly  visible — a  hopeless  wreck  now, 
swept  by  succeeding  avalanches  of  foam-capped 
breakers,  which  now  and  again  hid  her  entirely  from 
our  sight. 

But  as  yet  I  found  it  hard  to  sustain  an  interest 
in  the  endangered  vessel  and  her  crew.  I  felt  like 
a  spectator  at  a  theater,  brought  to  see  a  play  which 
one  is  expected  to  applaud  when  one's  center  of  at- 
traction is  among  the  audience. 

For  I  could  not  take  my  eyes  off  Roger  Marske, 
who  during  all  the  noisy  preliminaries  of  the  launch 
watched  me  like  a  wildcat  crouching  for  his  pounce 
on  a  helpless  rabbit. 


CHAPTER  XXXVIII 

TWO  VOLUNTEERS 

T  soon  became  apparent  that  something  was 
wrong  with  the  work  of  rescue.  Men  in 
cork  jackets  came  to  the  great  swing  doors 
of  the  lifeboat-house,  and  gazed  anxiously 
along  the  beach.  A  gentleman,  whom  I  took  to  be  the 
local  secretary,  fussed  and  fumed  in  and  out.  Above 
the  howling  of  the  tempest  and  the  crash  of  waves 
on  shore  the  murmur  of  voices  rose. 

"They're  generally  the  two  first,"  I  heard  a  woman 
say.  "They've  been  talking  ugly  lately,  and  I 
shouldn't  be  surprised  if  they  don't  turn  up  at  all." 
My  mind  jumped  back  to  Mr.  Peter  Croal  and  his 
grievance,  and  I  recognized  the  cause  of  the  trouble. 
His  opportunity  for  avenging  the  fancied  slight  on 
him  had  come,  and  with  the  malice  of  a  mean  nature 
he  was  sulking  in  his  cottage  when  his  lean,  lithe 
arms  were  so  sorely  needed  in  the  lifeboat.  And 
the  comrade  he  had  mentioned  was  probably  following 
suit. 

In  the  interval  of  waiting  for  the  missing  members 
those  of  the  bystanders  who  had  glasses  turned  them 
on  the  wreck,  and  many  were  the  speculations  as  to  the 

296 


TWO  VOLUNTEERS  297 

name  of  the  vessel  and  the  number  of  her  crew.  About 
a  score  of  men  could  be  seen  clustered  in  the  rigging, 
and  there  was  but  little  hope  for  any  who  had  re- 
mained on  deck  unless  they  were  sheltering  in  the 
deck-houses,  so  tremendous  were  the  volumes  of  water 
that  broke  over  the  ill-fated  steamer.  Like  an  ava- 
lanche each  wave  fell  upon  her. 

"I  was  on  the  cliff  just  after  she  struck,  and  .1 
thought  I  could  make  out  a  female  figure  and  another 
rush  from  amidships  into  the  wheel-house  at  the  stern. 
My  glasses  are  exceptionally  good  ones,"  remarked 
an  old  gentleman  of  self-important  demeanor. 

Roger  Marske  turned  sharply  upon  him.  "You 
must  be  mistaken,"  he  snapped  with  a  warmth  that 
seemed  quite  uncalled-for.  "That  isn't  a  passenger 
steamer.  She's  too  small  for  that." 

"Nevertheless,  sir,  I  adhere  to  my  original  state- 
ment," the  pursy  gentleman  retorted.  "I  gave 
fifteen  guineas  for  these  glasses,  and  I  have  absolute 
confidence  in  them.  But  here  comes  a  coastguards- 
man  who  will  possibly  corroborate  me,  for  doubtless 
they  were  watching  the  steamer  from  the  station." 

I  looked  along  the  footpath  that  winds  along  the 
base  of  the  cliff,  and  sure  enough  a  coastguardsman 
was  hurrying  along  it  toward  the  lifeboat-house,  as 
though  on  an  urgent  errand.  But  in  the  same  line 
of  vision,  though  some  two  hundred  yards  behind 
him,  was  another  figure  which  set  my  heart  beating 
fast— that  of  the  local  policeman,  advancing  with  the 
leisurely  tread  of  his  species  to  the  center  of  .excite- 
ment. I  involuntarily  glanced  at  Roger  Marske.  His 
eye  met  mine,  and  by  the  malignant  triumph  in  his 


298  MILLIONS  OF  MISCHIEF 

face  I  guessed  that  he  too  had  seen  the  constable,  and 
meant  to  take  advantage  of  the  opportunity. 

But  no;  my  temporary  protector  saw  the  danger 
signal,  and  took  instant  action.  There  was  very  little 
that  escaped  the  alert  insight  of  Lord  Alphington. 

"Look  here,  Marske,"  he  said  sternly,  but  in  a 
lowered  voice,  ' '  if  you  do  anything  to  mar  my  enjoy- 
ment of  this  picturesque  scene,  you  and  I  will  be 
strangers  in  future;  and  you  know  what  that  en- 
tails." 

Biting  his  lip  and  scowling  at  me,  my  enemy  was 
equal  to  the  occasion.  "Consideration  for  your  lord- 
ship and  my  devotion  to  Lady  Muriel  will  prevent 
me  from  performing  an  obvious  duty,"  he  replied. 
"I  shall  not  denounce  this  person  so  long  as  he  is  in. 
your  company." 

"Mind  you  don't— by  word  or  sign,"  said  the 
Premier,  turning  away  to  hear  what  was  being  said 
by  the  coastguardsman,  who  had  now  arrived,  and 
before  entering  the  lifeboat  house  was  being  button- 
holed by  the  magnate  with  the  expensive  field-glasses. 

"Yes,  sir,"  the  honest  Jack  was  replying.  "You 
are  perfectly  right,  sir,  there  is  a  woman  on  board. 
"We  made  her  out  quite  clearly  before  the  vessel  took 
the  ground." 

"She  is  a  passenger  steamer  then?"  pursued  the 
old  gentleman,  delighted  with  his  first  hit,  and  hoping 
to  score  a  second. 

But  he  had  to  be  content  with  a  partial  victory. 
"No  sir,  the  woman  is  probably  the  captain's  wife  or 
sister;  the  wreck  is  the  steamer  Nightshade — port  of 
London,  bound  for  Barcelona  in  ballast  for  fruit," 


TWO  VOLUNTEERS  299 

the  coastguard  replied,  and  he  elbowed  his  way 
through  the  throng  into  the  building,  where  the 
absence  of  Croal  and  his  adherent  was  now  causing 
dismay.  The  coxswain's  voice  was  heard  within,  con- 
demning the  recalcitrant  members  of  his  crew  to  the 
most  terrible  tortures,  and  the  word  "volunteers" 
came  frequently  above  the  tumult  of  crashing  wave 
and  angry  talk. 

But  what  was  wrong  with  Roger  Marske?  That 
spasmodic  working  of  his  jaw,  that  sudden  pallor, 
could  not  be  due  to  his  having  been  partially  scored 
off  by  the  owner  of  the  valuable  glasses.  My  experi- 
ence of  the  rending  of  human  heartstrings  had  been 
extensive  during  the  recent  months,  and  I  knew  that 
he  was  face  to  face  with  a  crisis  that  called  for  im- 
mediate action. 

This  was  the  way  he  met  the  crisis. 

"I  can't  stand  this,"  he  cried,  for  the  benefit  of  the 
bystanders  at  large.  "If  the  boat  is  short-handed 
I'll  go  as  a  volunteer.  I  can  pull  a  good  oar."  And 
amid  cheers  from  the  wind-riven,  rain-soaked  crowd 
he  pushed  his  way  into  the  lifeboat-house. 

Heaven  knows  what  instinct  prompted  me,  but  the 
inspiration  came  that  if  Roger  Marske,  the  soft-living, 
ease-loving  sybarite,  wanted  to  be  out  there  on  the 
storm-swept  Shingles  I  ought  to  be  there  too.  My 
sluggish  brain  was  conscious  of  some  new  awakening, 
though  not  till  afterwards  did  I  piece  it  all  together 
and  understand  that  it  was  the  woman  on  board  the 
wreck  who  had  called  me ;  the  one  woman  in  the  world 
I  would  willingly  die  to  save. 

"My  lord,  I  am  entirely  in  your  hands,"  I  whis- 


300  MILLIONS  OF  MISCHIEF 

pered  to  the  Premier.  "Have  I  your  permission  to 
volunteer  also?" 

"Cut  along,"  was  the  reply.  "To  me  you  are  'Mr. 
Martin'  for  the  next  four-and  twenty  hours— the 
man  who  saved  my  daughter.  He  does  not  need  my 
permission  for  anything." 

I  was  quitting  his  side,  when  he  laid  his  hand  on 
my  arm.  "A  word  to  the  wise,"  he  replied.  "I  have 
been  studying  Marske  for  the  last  half -hour.  I  am 
beginning  to  think  that  there  may  be  something  in 
all  this.  He  looks  desperate.  Take  care  he  doesn't 
hit  you  over  the  head  with  an  oar— accidentally,  of 
course. ' ' 

I  thanked  him  with  a  look,  and  rushed  away  to 
offer  my  services  to  the  harassed  coxswain,  who  re- 
ceived them  with  a  mighty  growl  of  approval.  A 
minute  later  I  had  donned  a  cork  jacket  and  taken 
my  place  in  the  boat,  which  I  was  thankful  to  find 
was  nowhere  near  my  enemy.  He  was  in  the  stern, 
and  I  was  in  the  bows,  so  that  after  we  had  settled 
to  the  oars  I  could  see  without  being  seen  by  him. 
But  the  glance  he  gave  me  as  I  passed  to  my  seat 
would  have  slain  me  if  it  could. 

Too  much  precious  time  had  been  lost  already, 
and  when  the  boat  had  sped  down  the  slip  into  the 
turbulent  sea,  the  coxswain  gave  orders  for  a  quick 
stroke  that  absorbed  all  my  energy.  I  became  in- 
fected with  the  mad  craving  to  get  to  the  steamer  in 
time.  In  the  wild  desire  to  save  life,  and  in  the 
supreme  physical  effort,  I  forgot  for  a  while  the 
strange  jumble  of  events  that  had  sent  me,  a  sen- 
tenced convict,  out  on  such  an  errand.  For  the 


TWO  VOLUNTEERS  301 

moment  I  was  a  lifeboat-man,  with  no  use  for  any- 
one or  anything  but  my  own  thews  and  sinews. 

At  first  we  pulled  straight  for  the  wreck,  but  at 
some  distance  from  the  shore  the  coxswain  gave  the 
boat  a  slant  to  windward,  with  the  object  of  getting 
the  current  to  help  us.  About  this  time  a  roar  from 
him  told  us  that  the  forepart  of  the  steamer,  with  the 
masts  to  which  the  crew  were  clinging,  had  gone.  All 
that  remained  was  the  stern,  with  the  wheel-house. 

The  announcement  drew  a  groan  from  the  brave 
fellows  near  me,  but  Roger  Marske  turned  in  his  seat 
and  flung  at  me  a  glance  so  full  of  malicious  triumph 
that  I  could  not  understand  it,  so  irrelevant  did  it 
seem  to  me,  all  unaware  of  his  fiendish  plot  against  my 
darling's  life. 

But  enlightenment  was  soon  to  come.  The  cox- 
swain had  again  turned  the  boat  straight  for  the 
Shingles,  and  the  wreck,  and  I  guessed  that  he  was 
searching  for  open  water  to  take  the  boat  through  to 
the  sheltered  side,  when  he  loosed  a  bellow  that  no 
storm-rage  could  drown. 

"There's  a  woman  at  the  wheel-house  window  and 
a  man  at  the  door.  Put  your  backs  to  it,  lads." 

We  did  put  our  backs  to  it,  with  such  good  purpose 
that  our  cunning  steersman  found  the  opening  he 
wanted— found,  too,  that  it  was  close  to  the  battered 
remnant  of  the  wreck,  showing  that  had  she  kept  but 
a  hair's  breadth  to  one  side  she  would  have  made  a 
clear  passage.  Leaning  all  his  weight  on  the  tiller, 
our  chief  swung  the  lifeboat  into  the  narrow  channel 
in  the  seething  maelstrom,  so  that  she  almost  scraped 
the  stones  of  the  bank.  The  boat  shot  through  the 


302  MILLIONS  OF  MISCHIEF 

opening  under  the  steamer's  stern,  and  as  she  did  so 
Eoger  Marske  dropped  his  oar. 

A  rope  had  trailed  overboard  from  the  steamer,  and 
seizing  it  he  swung  himself  into  the  air.  For  a 
moment  he  hung  suspended  in  the  blinding  spray,  and 
then  hand  over  hand  he  swarmed  up  the  rope  into  the 
fantastic  fragment  of  the  Nightshade.  I,  being  in  the 
bows,  had  already  passed  the  dangling  rope,  or  I 
should  have  followed,  so  keenly  alive  was  I  now  to 
the  intention  of  Marske  in  joining  the  lifeboat. 

But  I  had  not  long  to  wait.  With  a  half-admiring 
oath  for  the  breach  of  discipline,  which  he  attributed 
to  over-eagerness  to  save  life,  the  coxswain  brought 
the  boat  round  under  the  lee  of  the  bank  and  of  the 
wreck,  and  it  is  matter  of  pride  to  me  that,  excepting 
Roger  Marske,  I  was  the  first  to  catch  the  rail  and 
scramble  on  board.  I  had  no  sooner  gained  the  deck 
than  I  was  nearly  swept  away  by  a  towering  wave 
that  crashed  against  the  weather  side  of  the  stern 
of  the  steamer,  and,  leaping  on  board,  flooded  it  with 
such  violence  that  when  the  surge  had  subsided  I  was 
surprised  that  I  had  contrived  to  hang  on— surprised 
also  that  the  wheel-house  was  still  standing. 

But  it  was,  and  in  the  doorway  was  Janet— my 
Janet— pointing  to  the  brink  of  the  broken  deck, 
whence  the  forepart  of  the  steamer  had  been 
wrenched  by  the  sea.  She  did  not  recognize  me,  but, 
distraught  and  terror-struck,  kept  pointing  to  the 
whirlpool  almost  beneath  her  feet,  and  screaming— 
' '  They  are  washed  away,  both  of  them.  They  fought, 
Herzog  and  Roger  Marske,  and  the  wave  came  and 
washed  them  away.  But  I  have  the  proofs. ' ' 


TWO  VOLUNTEERS  303 

"Janet!"  I  cried,  "Janet,  don't  you  know  me?" 
But  as  I  staggered  toward  her  across  the  sloping, 

slippery  deck  she  swooned  away,  and  I  was  only  just 

in  time  to  catch  her  as  she  fell. 


CHAPTER  XXXIX 

AFTERMATH  OF  STORM 

OUR  hours  later  a  council  of  war  was  assem- 
bled in  the  library  at  "Ardmore"  to  consider 
the  proofs  which  Janet  had  received  from 
Herzog,  and  the  new  light  shed  on  my  case 
by  her  experiences  at  the  hands  of  Roger  Marske  and 
his  father.  There  were  present  Lord  Alphington, 
Lady  Muriel,  Ralph  Garden,  and  myself.  Colonel 
Chilmark  had  been  notified  of  his  daughter's  rescue, 
but  was  not  well  enough  to  join  us. 

Lord  Alphington,  who  had  listened  gravely  to 
Janet's  story,  from  the  day  of  her  departure  down  to 
the  fatal  conflict  between  Roger  Marske  and  Herzog 
on  the  wreck,  sat  at  the  table,  perusing  the  packet  of 
letters  procured  at  Marske 's  chambers.  Janet,  pale 
and  exhausted  by  her  sufferings,  lay  back  in  an  easy 
chair  with  Lady  Muriel  hovering  near,  while  Garden 
and  I  stood  silent,  waiting  for  the  Premier's  opinion. 
It  was  given  in  characteristic  fashion.  When  he 
had  laid  down  the  last  of  the  letters,  and  made  a 
careful  examination  of  the  instructions  accompany- 

304 


AFTERMATH  OF  STORM  305 

ing  the  comfits,  the  great  statesman  rose,  and  coming 
over  to  me  held  out  his  hand. 

"These  letters  exculpate  you  completely  and  en- 
tirely, Captain  Rivington,"  he  said.  "I  am  proud 
to  be  the  first  to  congratulate  you,  though  we  must 
not  forget  that  you  will  be  in  danger  till  you  have  the 
King's  pardon.  Fortunately  His  Majesty  is  no  fur- 
ther off  than  Portsmouth  to-day,  and  I  shall  start  at 
once  to  procure  an  audience.  In  the  meanwhile  you 
will  remain  here  as  my  guest." 

"But,  my  lord,  supposing  the  police  come  while 
you  are  gone,"  cried  Janet,  starting  up  in  alarm. 
"Remember,  Herzog  told  me  that  the  search  would 
begin  this  afternoon.  It  is  known  to  everyone  that 
the  'Mr.  Martin,'  who  lodged  at  'Springthorpe,'  vol- 
unteered for  the  lifeboat  and  came  up  here  after  her 
return." 

"My  dear  child,"  said  Lord  Alphington  soothingly, 
"the  Prime  Minister  of  England  still  has  a  few  priv- 
ileges, and  among  them  I  think  that  you  will  find 
immunity  from  police  intrusion.  But  what  of  Her- 
zog? I  have  heard  of  him  as  a  skilful  secret  agent, 
but  not  in  connection  with  all  this  pother." 

I,  too,  had  noticed  the  slip.  In  her  excitement  my 
dear  girl  had  forgotten  the  pledge  she  had  given  to 
Herzog  to  respect  his  alias,  though  his  death  robbed 
her  lapse  of  any  consequences  to  him.  Perceiving 
this,  and  that  it  could  do  him  no  harm,  Janet  faltered 
out  her  explanation— that  she  had  promised  the  soi- 
disant  Doctor  Barrables  to  conceal  his  real  name  in 
consideration  for  what  he  had  done  for  her. 

A   change   came   over  the   Premier's   face   as  he 


306  MILLIONS  OF  MISCHIEF 

listened  to  my  love's  halting  tones,  and  I  began  to 
fear  that  we  had  lost  our  powerful  friend,  so  gray 
and  stern  did  he  grow.  But  his  half-incoherent  ex- 
clamation revealed  the  real  meaning  of  his  anger. 

"Herzog!"  he  muttered,  under  his  breath.  "He 
was  Gideon  Marske's  man.  My  Heaven,  but  this  is 
too  terrible."  And  flinging  himself  into  his  chair  he 
bowed  his  head  in  his  hands. 

I  saw  what  had  happened.  His  quick  mind  had 
penetrated  the  veil,  and  he  had  made  the  connection 
between  Sir  Gideon  Marske  and  the  plot  against  him- 
self, in  which,  till  that  moment,  I  do  not  think  he  had 
wholly  believed,  or,  if  so,  only  to  treat  it  as  the  work 
of  some  lawless  wretches  insanely  vengeful  for  some 
fancied  wrongs. 

There  was  a  tap  at  the  door  and  a  footman  brought 
in  a  telegram  for  his  master.  Lord  Alphington,  pull- 
ing himself  together  on  the  man's  entrance,  read  it, 
and  heaved  a  sigh  of  relief. 

"Thank  God!"  he  cried.  "Now  we  can  hush  this 
greater  horror  up.  Marske  was  always  clever,  and 
he  has  taken  the  best  way  out." 

"What  is  it,  father?"  said  Lady  Muriel.  "May 
I  see?" 

"Read  it  out,"  said  Lord  Alphington,  rising  heav- 
ily. "And  then  I  will  ask  a  favor  of  you  all." 

Lady  Muriel's  fresh  young  voice  rang  out  firm  and 
clear  in  the  opening  words,  but  trembled  almost  to  a 
whisper  as  she  grasped  the  true  significance  of  the 
news.  To  us  who  knew,  it  was  as  good  as  a  confession 
of  guilt  in  the  task  committed  to  Herzog.  Sir  Gideon 
Marske  was  too  hard  a  man  to  have  taken  the  extreme 


AFTERMATH  OF  STORM  307 

course  because  his  dead  son  was  about  to  be  branded 
as  a  murderer. 

The  telegram  ran: 

"Regret  to  inform  your  lordship  that  Sir  Gideon 
Marske,  Chancellor  of  the  Exchequer,  drowned  him- 
self in  the  ornamental  water  at  Marske  Hall  to-day 
on  receiving  telegraphic  news  of  his  son's  death  while 
aiding  in  rescue  of  lady  on  steamer  Nightshade.— 
Marryat-Hume,  Private  Secretary." 

It  was  a  full  minute  before  the  Premier  could 
speak,  but  when  he  found  his  voice  it  was  to  command 
us  all  to  silence  as  to  Sir  Gideon  Marske 's  initiative  in 
the  plot  against  him.  The  empire  would  be  shaken 
to  its  furthest  borders,  and  the  clock  would  be  put 
back  three  hundred  years,  if  it  leaked  out  that  a 
political  assassination  had  been  planned  by  a  Minister 
of  the  Crown. 

"I  have  His  Majesty's  ear,  Rivington,"  he  said, 
turning  to  me.  "I  can  rely  on  his  tact  to  join  us  in 
this  conspiracy  of  silence.  To  explain  your  escape 
it  will  be  necessary  to  bring  in  Herzog's  part,  but  so 
far  as  the  public  is  concerned  let  him  be  called  Bar- 
rabies,  so  that  the  reporters  can  make  an  anarchist 
of  him,  or  anything  their  ingenuity  suggests,  when 
they  come  to  interview  you.  Roger  Marske 's  mis- 
deeds have  no  national  importance,  and  can,  and  shall, 
have  full  publicity." 

With  which  he  abruptly  left  the  room,  to  start  on 
the  short  journey  designed  to  secure  for  me  an  even 
more  mighty  ally  than  himself— the  only  one  in  the 
realm  who  had  power  to  stay  the  doom  that  had  been 
pronounced.  Lord  Alphington  took  Janet's  hardly- 


308  MILLIONS  OF  MISCHIEF 

won  proofs  with  him,  but  we  had  all  seen  them,  and 
there  was  plenty  of  food  for  discussion  in  the  cold- 
blooded guilt  they  revealed. 

The  story  disclosed  was  a  commonplace  one  enough 
in  its  earlier  stages — that  of  a  trusting  girl  secretly 
married  to  a  man  who  soon  began  to  tire.  My  sister 's 
letters  showed  that  after  a  week's  honeymoon  up  the 
river  they  had  parted  on  good  terms  and  by  mutual 
consent,  she  to  return  to  her  home  in  the  New  Forest, 
and  he  to  resume  his  bachelor  mode  of  life  in  London. 
From  first  to  last  Clara's  letters  breathed  a  spirit  of 
true  affection,  without  a  hint  of  repining  at  the  sepa- 
ration, but  full  of  cheerful  references  to  the  time 
when  they  would  be  together  "some  day." 

So  matters  went  on  till  my  mother's  death,  and 
fortunately  for  me  it  was  easy  to  reconstruct  Roger 
Marske's  first  crime  from  materials  in  one  of  Clara's 
letters.  She  herself  had  evidently  been  the  intended 
victim,  my  mother  suffering  death  in  her  place  by 
merest  accident.  On  the  day  when  she  received  the 
poisoned  comfits  by  post  Clara  had  been  unwell  and 
had  given  them  to  her  mother,  who  had  probably 
put  them  away  and  eaten  them  a  month  later,  such 
being  the  interval  between  Clara's  acknowledgment 
of  the  sweets  to  her  husband  and  the  date  of  our 
mother's  death.  Thus  at  the  time  my  sister  did 
not  associate  the  death  with  the  present  that  came  to 
her  by  post  so  long  before,  and  my  mother  having 
suffered  from  chronic  heart  disease  there  was  no 
trouble  about  a  death  certificate. 

Roger  Marske,  delayed  in  his  purpose,  but  not 
daunted  by  the  miscarriage  of  his  "scheme,  seemed  to 


AFTERMATH  OF  STORM  309 

have  allowed  six  months  to  elapse,  and  then  again 
to  have  sent  my  sister  a  box  of  comfits,  one  or  more 
of  which  was  poisoned.  The  last  letter  written  by 
her  to  him  contained  thanks  for  such  a  package,  and 
also  the  statement  that  she  meant  to  enjoy  them  later 
in  the  day,  which  was  the  date  of  her  death.  In  her 
last  agony  her  mind  must  have  awakened  to  the  fatal 
import  of  the  sweets,  drawing  from  her  the  utterance 
which  Janet,  under  Providence,  translated  rightly. 

Perhaps  if  we  had  had  Herzog's  subtle  brain  to 
help  us  he  would  have  shed  light  on  anything  that 
was  obscure,  but  that  many-sided  victim  of  circum- 
stances slept  his  last  sleep  somewhere  out  among  the 
subsiding  breakers  on  the  Shingles,  locked,  maybe,  in 
the  embrace  of  the  scoundrel  who  had  guised  his 
final  desperate  murderous  errand  as  one  of  mercy. 
I  could  think  kindly  of  Herzog  now,  after  what  Janet 
had  told  me  on  our  way  up  from  the  beach,  of  his 
helpful  resource  on  the  Nightshade. 

The  storm  had  died  down  as  rapidly  as  it  had 
arisen,  and  the  evening  faded  into  night  amid  just 
such  a  sunset  glow  as  I  had  watched  from  the  attic 
window  of  the  vacant  house  on  the  cliff  twenty-four 
pregnant  hours  ago.  But  as  we  four  sat  together 
and  made  a  pretense  of  dinner,  and  afterward  wan- 
dered from  room  to  room,  there  was  as  yet  no  real 
sense  of  peace.  The  very  air  was  charged  with  ten- 
sion. I  was  still  liable  to  be  hauled  back  to  Win- 
chester to  be  hanged,  and  those  dear  people  knew  it, 
and  tried  in  vain  to  make  me  forget  that  the  search 
for  me  at  the  instance  of  the  Home  Office  must  have 
begun  hours  back. 


310  MILLIONS  OF  MISCHIEF 

It  was  at  about  eleven  o'clock,  while  Lady  Muriel 
was  bravely  keeping  up  appearances  by  singing  to 
us,  that  the  climax  came.  The  butler  entered,  and 
with  a  scared  face  announced  that  three  gentlemen 
and  "two  other  persons"  were  asking  for  the  ''Mr. 
Martin"  who  was  staying  at  "  Springthorpe. " 

"What  sort  are  these  other  persons,  Dawkins?" 
inquired  Ralph  Garden  from  the  piano,  where  he  was 
turning  over  Lady  Muriel's  music.  "Don't  be  afraid, 
man.  Speak  up." 

"They  look  like  prison  warders,  sir,"  stammered 
the  butler,  aghast  at  such  a  visit.  "They— they  are 
not  behaving  as  one  would  wish,  when  inquiring 
for  one  of  his  lordship's  guests." 

"I'll  soon  settle  their  hash,"  said  Garden,  advanc- 
ing to  the  door,  but  pausing  as  he  reached  it  and 
placing  his  finger  to  his  lips. 

For  wheels  sounded  in  the  drive,  and  a  moment 
later  Lord  Alphington's  voice  was  heard  at  the  hall 
door. 

"Well,  why  are  you  fellows  crowding  me  out  of  my 
own  house  ? "  he  asked,  in  cheery  accents  that  seemed 
like  the  dawn  of  a  new  day. 

A  subdued  rumble  from  the  spokesman  of  the 
party  was  all  that  reached  us  in  the  drawing-room. 

"Oh,  indeed,"  came  Lord  Alphington's  resonant 
answer.  "I  have  nothing  to  do  with  Mr.  Martin's 
identity.  But  whatever  it  may  be  you  need  put 
yourselves  to  no  further  trouble  about  Captain  Riv- 
ington.  I  have  here  His  Majesty's  full  pardon  for 
that  gentleman,  signed  and  sealed  at  Portsmouth 
on  board  the  Victoria  and  Albert  an  hour  ago.  Just 


AFTERMATH  OF  STORM  311 

step  into  the  light  and  cast  your  eye  over  the  docu- 
ment. ' ' 

******* 

So  passed  the  great  shadow  from  my  life,  all  the 
dark  places  that  it  had  clouded  throughout  those 
dreadful  weeks  being  illumined  by  the  light  of  truth 
at  last.  They  tell  me  that  I  look  ten  years  older,  and 
my  sweet  Janet,  though  she  appeared  as  young  as 
ever  on  our  wedding  day,  says  that  she  feels  twenty 
years  older  than  I  look.  But,  as  there  is  peace  in 
our  hearts  and  no  dishonor  on  our  name,  we  can 
afford  to  laugh  at  the  ravages,  real  or  fancied, 
wrought  by  the  terrible  experiences  which  we  have, 
jointly  and  severally,  here  set  down. 

It  only  remains  to  say  that  the  great  secret  of 
Sir  Gideon  Marske's  dastardly  plot  against  his  noble 
chief  never  reached  the  man  in  the  street,  nor  was 
the  enforced  resignation  of  two  colleagues  in  the 
Cabinet  ever  connected  in  the  public  mind  with  my 
escape  from  Winchester.  I  have  no  doubt,  however, 
that  Lord  Alphington's  private  inquiries  at  the 
prison  traced  the  blame  to  the  proper  quarters,  and 
revealed  to  him  how  Herzog  had  wielded  a  key  suf- 
ficiently powerful  to  open  the  door  of  my  cage. 

But  if  Sir  Gideon  escaped  the  everlasting  obloquy 
of  having  schemed  for  the  assassination  of  the  Prime 
Minister,  he  fully  shared  the  infamy  heaped  on  his 
son  when  Janet's  treacherous  treatment  by  him  was 
made  public  after  the  investigation  necessary  to  my 
final  rehabilitation.  Being  deprived  of  the  advantage 
which  the  trial  of  Roger  Marske  would  have  given 
me,  I  had  that  investigation  rigorously  pressed  home, 


312  MILLIONS  OF  MISCHIEF 

and  among  the  minor  fish  caught  in  my  net  was  Mrs. 
Webley,  the  newsvendor  at  Netting  Hill. 

The  woman  confessed  that  during  Janet's  absence 
from  the  shop  Roger  Marske  had  entered,  and  that  it 
had  been  at  his  instigation,  ' '  for  value  received, ' '  that 
she  had  sent  my  brave  sweetheart  to  the  Mill  House  at 
Chipping  Wyvern,  which,  being  near  his  father's 
country  seat,  he  must  have  known  of  as  a  likely  spot 
for  compassing  the  death  of  the  persistent  little 
amateur  detective  who  was  so  close  on  his  heels. 

And  Janet  and  I,  when  we  sit  over  the  fire  on 
winter's  evenings  in  the  old  cottage  in  the  New 
Forest,  where,  to  honest  Sarah  Leven's  delight,  there 
was  after  all  no  sale,  come  to  varying  conclusions 
about  the  man  who  played  so  great  a  part  in  our 
life-tragedy. 

"Herzog  was  a  rascal,  possibly  a  villain,  but  with 
the  elements  of  a  good  fellow  in  him,"  I  will  say. 

And  my  wife  will  catch  me  up  severely  with  the 
answer:  "I  won't  hear  a  word  against  him,  Arthur. 
He  was  a  dear.  He  gave  you  to  me." 


University  of  California 

SOUTHERN  REGIONAL  LIBRARY  FACILITY 

Return  this  material  to  the  library 

from  which  it  was  borrowed. 


REC'D  LD-1 

JANli 

OCT2  4  1981 


A     000129942     9 


